#what is the level of sauce to duck

[wisteriagoesvroom]

alex, lily and guanyu going to eat beijing duck together is something that can be so intensely personal

[loveinhawkins]

There’s perks to working a summer job where there’s seemingly no manager. Steve got an at most five minute interview with an overly smiley dude who said, “An independent workforce is very important to us,” and didn’t even check his references before telling Steve that he was hired.

So it’s down to him and Robin alone to open and close Scoops Ahoy. And the lack of any boss—not even a supervisor—is mostly great, means that no-one’s hovering over their shoulders droning on about ‘company policy’, means they can take their breaks as and when, and no-one’s tapping their foot with an eye on the clock.

But then there’s the times where it’s absolutely swamped with customers, and the statistical likelihood of having to serve an asshole skyrockets; and most assholes don’t tend to think of teenagers slinging ice-cream as being worthy of even the tiniest shred of respect.

“Are you wilfully this stupid, missy?” a douchebag snaps at Robin during the lunchtime rush, after she added chocolate sauce on his sundae instead of raspberry.

She remakes the order with a look that, if there was any justice in the world, would make him drop down dead on the spot. But instead, he just scoffs when she passes him the new sundae.

“Have a spectacular day,” Robin says acerbically, and if it was any other time, Steve would be ducking down behind the counter, pretending to check on stock levels so he can hide his laughter.

Except Robin’s also doing that thing where she blinks a lot, and Steve knows she’s fighting tears of frustration because he privately does something remarkably similar.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest coupled with what’s becoming a steadily frequent flare of protectiveness. That one usually comes with the kids and The Upside Down—except Robin is a girl who’s round about his age, so he half-heartedly assumes it must be because he has a crush on her.

But he’s not even thinking about said crush at all when he gently bumps her towards the break room with his hip and says, “Take yours first, I’ve got this.”

For half a second, Robin’s eyes seem to shine in gratitude before she puts a hand over her heart and declares, dripping in sarcasm, “You’re a god among men, Harrington, I never believed what anyone said about you.”

“You’re wel—hey, what did they say about me?”

The door to the break room shuts, but not before he hears Robin let out a genuine snort of laughter. He smiles and pivots back to the register.

The line’s calmed down; Steve recognises a substitute teacher waiting to be served: Mrs Greeves, who’s been at Hawkins High since the sixties, at least. There’s no other adult in the shop, so it’s presumably her little granddaughter who’s running about the place, without so much as a glancing eye on her.

But Steve doesn’t have to worry about a potential lost child scenario, because a guy suddenly slips out of the booth he’d been sitting in, bending down to the kid’s eye level and subtly ensuring that she doesn’t hightail it out of there.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to recognise him; he’s still getting used to the whole phenomenon of seeing people without the high school setting behind them. Like, Robin used to be just a name from a class he can’t even recall, and now he knows her for her dry wit and love of cryptic crosswords.

And this Eddie Munson is sort of a different beast from the guy Steve saw stomping around the cafeteria tables.

He’s dressed pretty much the same, (Hellfire shirt sans the leather jacket must be the ‘summer look’, Steve reckons), but he’s quieter as he chats with the little girl, letting her try on one of his skull rings to distract from her obvious boredom. His grin is softer, too.

Mrs Greeves clears her throat, and Steve promptly puts on his vacant ‘delightful customer service’ smile.

“Afternoon, Mrs Greeves, what can I do you for?”

She orders a simple strawberry cone for the kid, Abigail, and two scoops of lemon and vanilla in a cup for herself—appropriate, Steve thinks, because her face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon half the time.

As he prepares the ice-cream, he’s quickly remembering why she’s on the list of substitute teachers that students dread, even if he’s only had the ‘pleasure’ of being in a class supervised by her once. He has vague memories of how she’d talk with other teachers in a scandalised stage whisper about students from ‘broken homes’—he’s pretty sure she’s still an austere teacher at the Sunday School, too.

“Abigail,” she says sharply, when Steve finishes the cone, and she finally seems to realise her granddaughter isn’t by her side, “what have I told you about—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie says hurriedly. Abigail hands him the ring back, very carefully dropping it into his palm, and he gives her a gentle smile. “I don’t mind—”

“—not talking to strangers?” Mrs Greeves finishes, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken.

“But,” Eddie says with tiny frown, “you know me, ma’am, I’m—”

“Let me be plain then, Mr Munson.” She finally turns to favour Eddie with a scathing look. “I meant that I don’t want my granddaughter around a corrupting influence.”

There’s an awful silence while Abigail collects the cone.

“Oh,” Eddie says, still crouched down by the booth. He sounds very small.

And Steve’s view of Mrs Greeves quickly turns from a general dislike to an icy hatred.

“And here’s yours,” he says, sliding the cup over.

She looks down. Her mouth goes all pinched in displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s your ice-cream,” Steve says, playing up a confused blink. “Is—is this not what you ordered? I’m terribly sorry for the—”

“Don’t be obtuse, Mr Harrington. These scoops are tiny; they barely fill the cup!”

Yup, Steve thinks with a savage satisfaction. They’re the size of a melon ball, and even that’s being generous.

“Mrs Greeves, I’m afraid it’s store policy. Nothing to do with—”

“What kind of policy could possibly justify—”

“Rudeness,” Steve says smoothly.

Eddie’s head jerks up at that, his mouth slightly agape.

“Mr Harrington,” Mrs Greeves says, her face turning puce, “I would like to see your manager.”

“The manager,” Steve says flatly. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get him.”

What he does next, compared to everything else that’s happened in his life thus far, isn’t all that stupid.

Well. Maybe a little.

It’s worth it though, to see the way Eddie Munson’s eyes widen at the sight.

Making sure to have zero expression throughout, Steve mimes walking downstairs, throws off his hat while crouched behind the counter, then re-emerges with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“How can I help you?” he asks, like they’ve only just met.

The cup of minuscule ice-cream is soon up-ended as Mrs Greeves storms out, barking over her shoulder, “Abigail, come here!”

Eddie stands to let the kid out of the way, who seems blissfully ignorant with her cone. Steve’s sure he hears him mutter under his breath, “Jesus, she’s not a dog.”

“I’ll be reporting you, Steve Harrington, make no mistake!”

Yeah, good fucking luck. I sure as hell don’t know who really runs this place.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Looking forward to it. Harrington with two ‘r’s one ‘n’, ma’am.”

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie drawls. He’s leaning next to the booth, hip cocked, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it himself, Steve might’ve been convinced that the Eddie from a moment ago was a different person. “That was not worth getting fired over.”

“I’m not getting fired,” Steve says—although honestly, if that had been a real threat, he thinks his actions would probably have been the same. Huh. “I meant it, dude, there’s no manager here.”

Eddie nods slightly, looks up at the Scoops Ahoy sign and grins. “So you and Buckley are the skeleton crew on this ship.”

“Uh, I guess?”

Come on, man, Steve thinks, as Eddie keeps up the wide grin like it’s a shield. This isn’t the high school cafeteria; I’m not about to hit your lunch tray or whatever.

Out loud, he calls into the back, “Hey, Robin, the chocolate’s low. I’m just gonna put in a new batch if you want some of the old stuff.”

The sliding doors open.

Robin sighs as if she’s just had a very relaxing facial, but she’s actually holding a folded newspaper with the cryptic crossword all finished.

“I am so chilled out,” she says, with a delivery that could rival Eddie Munson’s trademark dramatics.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says mildly while making up a cup with the leftover chocolate ice-cream.

“You’ve just got no taste, Harrington.” She waggles the crossword at him. “You should give ‘em a try.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m no good at that code-breaking stuff.” He passes her the cup, goes to start assembling his own and pauses. “Hey, Munson, you want some?”

“Oh, uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, sounding suddenly wrong-footed. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, killing time before my movie starts. The other stores said if I wasn’t buying anything I should get out, so…”

“So you’ve come to our oceanic sanctum,” Robin deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, just ‘cause you do crosswords doesn’t mean you have to turn into a dictionary. Ow.” He doesn’t quite duck in time to avoid the newspaper smacking him in the face. He turns to address Eddie again, who appears to be fighting back laughter. “What’re you gonna see, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes glance away for a second. “Something very scary and befitting of my stature, Harrington.”

Robin, who’s made a habit of memorising the mall’s movie schedules, checks her watch and narrows her eyes. “Return to Oz?”

Eddie’s cheeks start to glow. “Fuck off, Buckley, I’ve never liked you.”

“You’re such a liar, I’ve heard your applause at band practice—”

“Okay, but,” Steve cuts in, jumping up onto the counter with one hand. “I thought the whole point was Oz was a dream. How can she return to—?”

“Christ, I don’t know, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I didn’t pick it for critical analysis; the poster had a dude with a pumpkin head on it, and I thought it looked cool.”

“Oh, I saw that,” Robin says. “Made me think of when all those pumpkins went bad. Like, imagine if they had faces.”

Unthinkingly, Steve says around his ice-cream spoon, “No way, I’m not dealing with that, too.”

“Excusez-moi?” Robin says.

“Hmm?” Steve says innocently.

“Hey, you missed quite a show earlier on, Buckley,” Eddie says. “Reckon Harrington deserves a tally in the ‘you rule’ column.”

Steve glares at Robin. “I told you to keep that outta view of the customers.”

“Ah, but I’m not buying anything,” Eddie points out, “ergo, not a customer.”

“Ergo,” Steve mimics.

“That board is strictly for romantic successes,” Robin says.

Eddie snorts. “Aw, that’s hardly fair. I think it should have more… rounded criteria.”

Robin’s eyes narrow again. “Eddie Munson, you’ve never complimented a jock in your life, don’t start now.”

“Hey,” Steve says, overselling a ‘wounded’ expression. “I’m more than that, y’know. I contain multitudes.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, smiling. “Folks, we’ve got Hawkins’s own Whitman right here.”

Steve flips him off and, on a whim, decides to channel his inner Dustin.

“Maybe I just see the world more clearly than you two ‘cause I’m free of societal constraints.”

“You’re working in a mall,” Robin says.

“High school societal contraints. I am unshackled and ergo, free.”

“Damn,” Eddie says, patting down his pockets for an imaginary pen, “I should use that.”

“Stop inflating Harrington’s ego and go catch your totally scary movie,” Robin says.

Eddie checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Um.” And Steve thinks that it almost looks like he’s reluctant to leave. “Time flies, I guess. Better go ashore.” He catches Steve’s eye, gives a tiny little salute as he leaves. “May your summer continue to be mundane and manager-less.”

“You’re a poet, Munson,” Steve says, even though Eddie’s already out the door.

“So what was the show I missed?” Robin says. “I couldn’t hear anything back there.”

“Nothing that exciting.”

Steve tells her, and even though a smile tugs at her mouth as he re-enacts his mime, for some reason her eyes are kinda sad for most of it.

“Good job, Popeye,” she says thoughtfully—and though it directly contradicts her own words, she marks up a singular ‘you rule’ tally for the rest of her shift before wiping it off.

Eddie doesn’t re-appear after the movie—not that Steve’s keeping track of time, or anything—but at least they don’t have anymore nightmares for customers. As Steve mops, he thinks about how Dustin’s return from Camp Something Something is approaching—and the fact that he’s circled the date with a goofy smiley face is between him and his bedroom calendar.

He smiles to himself while clocking out of the now ghostly mall, recalling Eddie’s parting words.

The thought of a mundane, manager-less summer stretching before him sounds pretty damn good.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley can't help himself. When he sees cute things for his baby, he buys them. When he craves you as much as you crave him, he makes a complete mess in the garage. Pregnancy bliss is taking his domestic bliss to a new level as he tries to plan the perfect first anniversary outing.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, cum play, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"What are all these boxes from?"

Your husband clearly didn't hear you come in from work by the look of things. He was still in his flight suit, desperately emptying cardboard box after cardboard box onto the dining room table. When he turned toward you, his eyes were wide like you'd just caught him doing something he shouldn't be. "I have no idea," he said, quickly picking up a smaller one and rushing your way. "This one has your name on it."

You were still trying to look past him into the dining room while he actively blocked you. "Are you joking right now? Oh my god, you went on a shopping spree!"

His cheeks were tinted pink, and he looked like he was going to burst at the seams as he blurted out, "It's for the Nugget!"

"When did you even have time to buy it?" you asked in exasperation. "You just got home on Friday!"

He was raking his fingers through his hair. "There was a special on two-day shipping, and as soon as we found out it's a girl, I started adding things to my shopping cart."

His gaze was sweet and earnest, but you chucked the box you were holding and ducked around him before he could stop you. Then you gasped. There was baby clothing, a folded up pack 'n play, bibs, bottles, and a baby carrier all spread out on the table.

"Do I need to take your credit card away?" you asked him, but even you weren't immune to the little pink onesie that said Daddy's Co-pilot.

"I can behave," he promised. "I'm just excited."

You groaned and looked at his face as he picked up the baby carrier. It was impossible to be annoyed with him right now, and at least it was a bunch of things you were going to need. You nodded toward the hallway and asked, "Do you want to start getting the nursery ready in a few weeks?"

Suddenly you were pinned up against the side of the piano with the carrier pressed between your body and his while he kissed you senseless. "Yes," he whispered against your lips. "Please. Pastel airplanes and clouds." He had mentioned it so many times, you already knew he was still thinking about it. 

"Anything you want."

He kissed you one last time and said, "I want my little girl to have the cutest nursery ever, and I want my wife to still agree to cook me dinner after she sees the credit card bill."

Your stomach started growling at the mention of food. "I'm starving," you admitted. "Clean everything up, and I'll work on dinner."

He sprang into action while you unbuttoned your uniform shirt which was way too snug now. You even unbuttoned your pants. You started heating up the chicken casserole that you made and froze while Bradley was deployed before cutting open the box that arrived with your name on it. You already knew what was in it, but you still cringed when you saw it.

The United States Navy maternity uniform was one of the ugliest articles of clothing you'd ever seen in your entire life. You looked out the window at the partially built playset in the backyard and whispered, "You're lucky I love you, little Nugget. Because now I have to wear a weird tent to work for the next four months."

It was too ugly to think about right now. Your stomach was growling relentlessly, so you cut up some carrot sticks and poured out a little bit of the hot sauce you brought back with you from dinner in Del Mar last night. "Mmm, that's so fucking good," you groaned, biting into a carrot stick you dipped into the sauce. You cut up another carrot into sticks and tried to get them as saturated as you could before eating them.

The baby was moving around a lot now as you ate your snack. "Jesus," Bradley grunted, and you turned to see that he had changed into some gym clothes.

"Want some?" you asked, as you dipped more into the hot sauce. A drop landed on your chest above your bra before it made it to your mouth, and Bradley was there to lick it up in an instant.

"Is this some sort of pregnancy craving?" he asked, and you smiled as you fed him the carrot stick. "And are you going to eat in your bra all the time now?"

"Why? Do you like it or something?"

He gave you a stern look and ran his thumb over your lace covered nipple. "Come on, Sweetheart. Your tits make me hard on a regular day, but right now they are doing a little something extra, and you know it."

"My favorite bra barely fits right now," you informed him as you reached for another carrot. "And my maternity uniform arrived." But you could tell he was hardly listening now as he kissed along your bra strap while the kitchen timer told you dinner was ready. "I could model it for you after we eat."

"Absolutely," he whispered as Tramp trotted in, ready to be fed too. They both gave you puppy eyes until they had their food in front of them. Bradley pulled you down onto his lap and offered to share his plate of dinner with you, but you mostly ate the carrot sticks. You were almost tempted to drink some of the hot sauce, so yes, this probably was a pregnancy craving. What you really wanted was to dip some marshmallows into it...

"Baby Girl, I'm going to go work out in the garage," Bradley said, pulling you from your food fantasy. He rubbed his hand along your bare belly and up to your breasts. "Meet me out there if you want. I'll clean the kitchen later."

You watched him slip out the sliding glass door and head for the garage. In fifteen minutes, he would be all sweaty. His skin would be slick to the touch. He would taste incredible. Yeah, you were obviously going to go meet him out there. In the meantime, you should probably try on your maternity uniform. 

You wrinkled your nose as you carried it to your bedroom. The pants were nice and stretchy, and they felt comfortable. The shirt had ample room for your belly, and it would definitely accommodate you in your third trimester as well. "Let's have a look," you said to your daughter, but when you glanced in the mirror, you gasped. "Fuck!"

Oh, it was so much worse than you imagined it would be. You laughed to keep from crying as you tried to come to terms with this khaki monstrosity. Your butt looked weird, and there was just so much fabric. You tried to tuck the shirt in, but somehow that was worse. 

After you slipped some shoes on, you made the trek out to the garage and stood in the open doorway, admiring your husband for a few minutes while he listened to his gym playlist and did some bicep curls. Then he dropped down to the mat and did fifty push ups while you tried not to moan. You almost forgot why you were there, but then he got to his feet, wiped his forehead with a towel, and jumped a bit when he finally saw you.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

"Bradley!" you whined. "Is it really that bad?" You knew the question was almost laughable. The answer was clearly yes. But your husband scrambled over to you with an apologetic look on his face anyway.

"You're still beautiful," he insisted, taking both of your hands in his. "I just wasn't expecting you to be wearing this... uniform."

You let him kiss you, but you rolled your eyes and said, "I'm going to have to hide in my office at work until March."

"Okay," he finally said, "it's hideous, to be sure. But I see plenty of officers wearing them on base. And if anything, you make it look a lot better than it really has any right to." Your laughter must have encouraged him, because he wrapped you up in a delightfully sweaty hug and led you to his weight bench. "Wanna watch me do lunges? I'm practicing for the Nugget."

"You're practicing?" you asked as you settled down on the narrow bench. 

He was already strapping the baby carrier around his torso and clicking it into place. Then he picked up one of his ten pound bench press weights and slipped it into place where a baby should go. You wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he was, but when he looked at you and lunged down into a squat, you moaned and had to press your thighs together instead.

"Yeah," he grunted. "I'm practicing for when I get to wear my little Nugget around. Actually, do you think we should be calling her Nuggette?"

Once again, his words were comical, but the way he was doing reps of lunges like he was cradling a tiny baby's head with his hand instead of a metal weight left you whimpering.

"Nuggette sounds cute, too," you told him, rubbing your belly through your hideous maternity shirt. She was squirming a bit as you said, "I don't think she's picky about what you call her, Roo. She's just very excited whenever you're around."

He lunged down one more time before getting on his knees on the mat in front of you, removing the weight from the carrier and setting it on the floor. "Is that true?" he asked as he scooted a little closer. He smelled like clean sweat, and his body was radiating heat as he started to kiss your belly through your shirt. "You love Daddy?" he asked, running his nose gently against your bump.

His fingers found the hem of your shirt and eased it up so he had full access, kissing the spot next to your belly button. You brushed his damp hair back from his forehead and moaned, "We both love Daddy."

"Hey," he whispered as he started to unbutton your shirt. "I really want to fuck you, but this thing is a mood killer."

"Bradley!"

"I'm so serious," he told you, shaking his head. "We need to get this tent off of you immediately."

"You're so rude," you said with a laugh as he finally pushed the fabric down your arms and tossed it to the floor.

"That's what I'm talking about," he grunted, unhooking your bra and tossing that aside as well. Then he was still on his knees with his mouth on your breasts, and suddenly you could barely remember your own name.

-----------------------------

Something about pregnancy cast a magic spell on your tits, and if left uninterrupted, Bradley could have happily sucked on them all night long. They were bigger, sure, but they were somehow a little firmer, too. And he couldn't understand it, but they were warmer and smelled so sweet. And your fucking nipples looked a bit bigger and were always furled into pretty little peaks that made his dick so hard, he could barely keep from touching himself.

He was moaning for you, on his knees in the garage while he licked and sucked to his heart's content. His left hand was stroking the underside of your breast while his right was stroking his cock in time with the way you were whining, "Brad-ley. Brad-ley." Your fingers were in his hair, and he was in absolutely no hurry to fuck you, but he was slightly afraid he was going to cum within the next few minutes.

So he carefully pushed you down onto your back on the bench and pulled those ugly as sin maternity pants off of your gorgeous body, yanked your underwear to the side, and ran his cock through your soaking wet pussy. 

"Fuck, Sweetheart." As soon as he pushed himself inside you with a little snap of his hips, your tits bounced for him. Mesmerized, he did it again. 

"Roo," you whined, trying to find something to hold onto as he fucked you a little harder with his hands cupping your bump.

"Yeah," he crooned, ramming himself deep, thankful he'd already removed the bar and the weights. "You better hang on tight."

He fucked you until you were a screaming mess, gripping the bench above your head for support. He'd never let anything happen to you or the baby, but it was delicious watching you scramble like this as he rocked the bench. The grip of your pussy as you arched your back and pressed your bump into his palms had him clenching his jaw, holding back as long as he could.

"Oh, fuck!" he shouted, pulling out of you while you were mid orgasm and shooting his load all over your belly and chest. "Jesus Christ," he panted, standing while straddling you on the bench, jerking himself off all over those tits.

You looked like you were in a daze as you reached one hand up, grasped his sensitive cock, and dragged it through the mess. Then you leaned up and kept eye contact with him while you licked his cock clean. He was literally twitching, hands folded behind his head as he stood there and let you rub his cock along your nipples again and again before setting him on your plush tongue.

He had to clear his throat a few times before he could manage to say, "I'm really happy you decided to join me for my workout."

Your pretty laughter filled the garage as he helped you sit up. Once you were dressed in his sweaty shirt with your awful uniform in your hand, he followed you out the door, across the backyard and directly to the shower.

"I don't know what happened here," he rasped, rubbing his rough hand all over your soapy tits, "but I love it."

Your eyes were closed, lips softly parted as you whispered, "I'm pretty sure it's just pregnancy boobs, Roo."

"And I'm pretty sure I've never cum quite that much before. You were fucking covered in it."

He had to kiss the smirk off your face so the two of you could finish showering and get in bed. "Hey," you murmured as you draped your arm across his chest. "You haven't read any of the Nugget notebook to me since you got home."

Bradley ran his fingers along your shoulder. "I could read some of it to you now," he whispered before reaching to get the pink and blue notebook from his nightstand. He wanted you to read it. He wanted you to know everything he wrote in there, but there was one page he didn't want you to see quite yet. "Have you thought any more about baby names?" he asked as he opened the notebook.

"A little bit," you said with a yawn. "Nothing I'm totally crazy about though."

Be breathed a sigh of relief and started reading out loud. He could wait for the perfect moment to mention it, and he thought that perfect moment might be on your anniversary.

---------------------------

For the rest of the week, you absolutely refused to wear your maternity uniform to work. You wore Bradley's extra shirt instead, affixing your own insignia pins and name tag to it each morning.

"You're out of dress code," he told you for the hundredth time on Friday morning.

"I don't care," you replied as you ate a granola bar covered in mustard while you both rode to work in the blue Bronco. "If I can go one last week or two before I have to start wearing the uncomfortable tent, then that's all that matters."

Bradley laughed, and you glared playfully at him. "It's not that bad, Baby Girl. I can still get a boner with you in it."

"You could still get a boner if I was wearing a tarp."

He was quiet for a beat before he moaned and asked, "Would the tarp be the same shade of blue as the Bronco? Because yeah, I might actually like that."

"See?" you replied before popping the rest of the bar into your mouth and chewing it up. You'd been craving weird food combinations all week, and honestly the best part of your days was visiting the cafeteria where you could combine whatever you wanted into the perfect meal.

"Hey, don't forget, I won't be at lunch today," Bradley said casually. Had he mentioned that before? You weren't sure. You were starting to have bouts of forgetfulness and brain fog.

"Where are you going again?"

"Uh," he hesitated. "Well I have to go see Nicole."

Nicole was the name on the list you found in the kitchen. Something about a permit. He said he'd never met her and didn't know who she even was. "Why?"

He coasted into a parking spot as he sighed. "It's something for our anniversary. Remember?" He turned and looked at you with those big brown eyes and asked, "Can we please let this be a surprise? I've got some shit planned for that day."

Your parents weren't coming out for Thanksgiving, and the two of you weren't going to Maryland. When you called them a few days ago to let them know the baby was a girl, your mom erupted into joyous screams before starting to cry because she wasn't going to see you until Christmas. Instead, you were planning on having a quiet Thanksgiving at home in the craftsman with Jake, Cat and Jeremiah. So if Bradley wanted to plan something special for later that weekend, you didn't mind.

"Yeah. It can be a surprise, Roo." 

He looked relieved when you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then he held your hand and walked you all the way to the elevator where he leaned in close. "I'll see you and your tits after work," he whispered, earning him a swat on the arm. He was laughing as he placed a big hand on your belly and said, "Love you, Nugget." 

Then you rode the elevator up to your office where you dipped a second granola bar into the container of maple syrup you brought with you and ate it before heading to your lab. You bumped into Maria in the hallway, and when you tried to say hi, she kept rushing by.

"I don't have time to talk," she said. "Bob keeps making me late for work."

You stood there in surprise for a second before you called out, "I mean, good for you though." Your hormones were an absolute mess, because by the time you walked into your own research lab, you were trying to get the image of Bob and Maria doing some nasty shit with his D&D dice out of your head. "Why am I like this right now?" you asked with a grimace.

"Like what?" Cat asked as you sat down next to her. "You're out of dress code." Then her expression melted as she said, "I swear you get bigger every day. You look so cute."

You opened your computer and casually asked, "You think you and Jake will have more kids?"

You were just trying to mess with her, but she cradled her face in her hands and groaned. "He wants to get married."

Your eyes went wide as you spun to face her. "Really? Do you? He's so good with Jeremiah."

"I can't," she whispered, looking around. "I'm still in so much debt. He's already paying for Jer's daycare on base now, and he's paying for a lawyer for me. If we get married, he'll try to pay off everything."

You shrugged. "So get a prenup or something. He loves you and Jer, and you cease to be a hardass now that he's around."

She started to spin away from you, obviously done indulging your antics, but then she said, "Can we keep this between the two of us?"

"Who would I even tell?" you asked as you typed your password.

"Your husband. And he'd tell Jake. And then Jake would come storming in here like a knight ready to save the day once again, and I don't want that."

She wasn't wrong, and you knew it. "Yeah, my lips are sealed. You're still coming for Thanksgiving dinner, right?"

"Just as long as you let me help you cook."

"One again, something I can't trust Bradley with," you muttered. "Deal."

-----------------------------

Nicole was honestly lovely. She had everything ready for Bradley to sign when he got there, and then she made some quick photocopies and sent him on his way. Perfect. The permit was in order, and now he just needed to take care of the food and figure out where to buy non-alcoholic champagne, if it even existed. But he had another full week to think about that.

When he got back to work right after lunch, he headed for the lounge to wait until he was called up by someone in the tower. The room was empty except for Nat and Bob who were eating popcorn and sleeping on the couch respectively.

"Want some?" his best friend asked, and he shoved his hand into the kernels.

"What's wrong with him?"

Nat turned to look at Bob. "Oh, he's worn out from too much sex."

"Love that for him," he muttered before shoving the popcorn into his mouth.

Nat snorted. "You're looking a little worse for the wear, too, old man."

"Am I?" he asked after he swallowed. Sometimes it was glaringly obvious that you were six years younger than him, and other times he kind of just forgot about it. But you had been a bit of a brat since the night on the weight bench. You knew now that you could use your delicious tits against him to get whatever you wanted, and you really seemed to want to get pounded into the mattress at every turn.

When Nat touched the hair at his temple, she said, "You're wearing the expression of a man who is about to be wrapped around his daughter's fingers, and you also have a few gray hairs coming in."

He'd known her long enough to be sure she wasn't joking about either of those things. When he stopped in the locker room and looked in the mirror on the way to the parking lot at the end of the day, he found that she was right. It didn't really bother him. Hell, you hadn't said a negative word about it. On the contrary, you'd kissed him right there and told him how much you loved him in bed earlier this morning. The issue was that it reminded him of his parents and how young the both were when they just stopped existing.

He pushed off from the sink forcing himself to focus on the fact that he was very much alive and very much had his wife waiting in the parking lot for him. When he found you next to his Bronco, you were in tears, and you were unbuttoning his uniform shirt which you kept insisting on wearing.

"What's wrong, Baby Girl?" he asked as he rushed to get to you, and as soon as you saw him, you flung yourself into his arms.

"I got a formal reprimand! By some random admiral!"

"For what?" he asked, even though he already knew.

You sniffed and told him, "For being out of dress code."

He waited a few seconds until you seemed a little bit calmer, and then he said, "I think this means you should start wearing the tent."

"I hate it when you're right."

He guided you around to the passenger side door and unlocked it for you. Then he let you pull his shirt off and toss it onto the seat. He didn't even ask questions as you climbed in, he just buckled your seatbelt for you and let you ride home in your bra.

The Bronco was pretty close to the house when you finally reached for his hand, and he gave it to you immediately while you pouted out the window. "Can I have a little hint?" you asked.

He stroked your soft knuckles, unsure what you were referring to. "About what, Sweetheart?"

"Our anniversary. Please? Today was so shitty, and I miss my parents, and I'm starving for grapes dipped in hot sauce, and I am pissed that I got reprimanded."

Bradley tried not to smile as he pulled into the driveway. You were always so endearing even when you were annoyed, and he was going to get you grapes and hot sauce as soon as he got you inside. "Yes, I'll give you a little hint. What do you want to know?"

He watched you unbuckle your seatbelt after he parked, and you crawled across the seat toward him, practically spilling out of your bra. As you straddled his lap and guided his hands to your bump and his sweet Nugget, you asked, "Where are you taking me?"

Bradley smiled and kissed your lips. "Back to the scene of the crime."

----------------------------

Daddy Roo with some gray hairs along his temple. Sign me and BG the fuck up. The Nugget is growing nicely on her new hot sauce diet. Up next is Thanksgiving with the Seresins and the Bradshaws along with an anniversary dinner. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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[goldenlikedayl1ght]

taking what's not yours - f. castle & m. murdock

a/n: ALRIGHT ITS FINALLY DONE uhhh sorry this has no smut i was just goofing and wanted to write something cute with our two favorites and you guys seemed to really want this one so! i have no regrets actually! im gonna go take a nap now warnings: polyamorous relationships, frank has nightmares, reader is autistic, reader has an oral fixation/biting problem, nosebleeds/blood, crying, cursing, lots of cute nicknames, talks of death, some sexual comments, lots of kissing and fluff word count: 3.2k comments and feedback are always appreciated <3 summary: a week in the life of a relationship with frank castle and matt murdock, your two favorite vigilantes. pairing: frank castle x autistic!gn!reader x matt murdock now playing: taking what's not yours - tv girl "you know where to find me/and i know where to look"

Soft country music from before country music as a genre went modern and became what it is today plays from the radio Frank insists on keeping on while he cooks dinner. His flannel is tight around his chest and the sleeves are rolled up as he brings a spoon to his mouth, tasting the sauce he’s been preparing for the past few hours. He adds more pepper.

The door opens from across the apartment, and all he hears is, “Frank! Tell Matt to stop being mean to me!” You and Matt make your way through the apartment after taking off your shoes and coats, Matt loosening his tie as he follows you into the kitchen. Frank turns when you step into the kitchen, immediately moving over to him and finding your place in the crook of his arm.

“Red bein’ mean to you, honey?” Frank asks as he kisses the top of your head, grinning at Matt as he huffs, standing with his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter if it’s handsome if he’s so mean, does it?” You ask.

“No, it doesn’t,” He grins, and you stick your tongue out to Matt playfully, and he mimics you before going over to Frank and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Hi.” The lawyer hums, happy to be back home with his two favorite people.

“Hi.” Frank grins, unsure of how serious you are about Matt being mean to him. “What’s going on, why are you being mean?” Matt raises an eyebrow at you, unhappy with your running to Frank.

“Can’t just run to daddy to fix your problems, pup.” He accuses, and you scoff. His words are playful, but your face is red at the call out.

“You know what, Murdock—”

“Hey! Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Frank cuts in, and Matt tilts his head in your direction, and you quietly plead for Matt not to tell on you, and--

“They bit me.” Frank sighs at his words.

“I was being affectionate!” You immediately go into defense mode, ducking out of Frank’s arm, trying to casually walk off from the pair towards the fridge, only for Matt to grab your arm, pulling you between the two men, your back against Frank’s chest, face to face with Matt.

“You cannot bite people, pup.” Matt says, and you frown.

“I like biting people—”

“That’s a problem!” Frank’s words attempt to be serious, but they’re coated by a soft laugh as his hands, rough from a long day of working blue collar, rub up and down your arms.

“See? You’re getting Frank to agree with me, do you know how hard that is to do?” Matt hums, and you tilt your head.

“What? You love Frank, it’s actually kind of gross—”

“It is gross isn’t it?” Matt asks teasingly, leaning up to kiss Frank again. You roll your eyes at the fact that you’re being reprimanded by your boyfriends, sandwiched between them, forced to deal with the consequences of your actions. “But I’m being serious, okay?”

“Matty,” Your head leans back against Frank’s chest, “I don’t bite anyone who isn’t you or Frank..”

Alright, let’s level with each other—Frank and Matt are well aware of the fact that you’re neurodivergent. You get overstimulated with loud, crowded situations very easily, you struggle to understand jokes a lot, and you once told them that in middle school, you became so hyper fixated on waffles to the point where you ate them for breakfast and lunch most days, practically begging your mom to let you have it for dinner most nights (She let you have them once a month) and then, after fourteenth months, you stopped. You have not been able to eat a waffle since.

The point is the two men you’re sandwiched between are no strangers to your neurodivergence. They know it’s stimulating in the best way to chew or suck on something, your oral fixation coming back with a vengeance after you tried to repress it for so long. You chew on everything. You chew on the strands of your hoodies, you chew on your sleeves, you chew on ice, gum, you chew on your boyfriends, and you chew on your cheeks to the point where you draw blood, which always gets Matt to scold you, because he can smell the coppery blood from his place across the room, and immediately tells Frank.

Matt Murdock is a little tattletale.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Frank hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ll get you something to chew on—”

“What, like a chew toy? That’s embarrassing,” you groan, and Matt just laughs a bit, leaning in to oppress a kiss to the shoulder that Frank is not leaning on.

“Then stop biting, pup.”

You pause, contemplating the options you have. Fix your biting issue or have Matt and Frank fix it for you. Honestly, you don’t think you have the neurotypical willpower to fix this problem, so you go,

“Okay, fine. You guys have my permission to do what you want to fix it.” You huff. Frank presses a kiss to your cheek while Matt presses a kiss to the other. You feel the smirks against your skin, and you realize what’s happening before you can run, “Wait, no, I swear to god—” Matt picks up your legs with ease as Frank secures his arms around your torso, the pair beginning to carry you to the couch. You groan as they throw you onto the leather couch, landing with a huff. “You’re both awful.”

Matt leans down and bites your shoulder.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“Jokes on you, Daredevil, I’m into that—” You feel Frank sink his teeth into your arm.

“Wrong answer.” Matt responds for him.

//

Later that night, after dinner, you’re laying against Matt, your legs resting in Frank’s lap. You’re listening to music, and the environment is very relaxed, none of you are particularly on edge. Matt’s fingers are resting in your mouth. You relax like this a lot, just sucking his fingers gently. You’re absentmindedly just sucking on his fingers when you bite down on them—It’s not an accident, and Matt would call you out on it if you lied.

So when you bite down, not entirely consciously, he huffs, “With the biting, baby, come on,” he softly condemns, and remembering your deal, Frank gets up with a sigh, patting your leg before he got up and headed to the kitchen. You’re confused for a second before Matt’s nose twitches with recognition, so he grabs your shoulder and pulls you close, his hand finding your cheeks and squeezing your mouth so that it’s in an ‘o’ shape.

Frank approaches you with a spoon and a jar of peanut butter, and your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and the rest of your features are squished by Matt’s hands. Frank scoops a big wad of peanut butter onto the spoon before sticking it in your mouth. You’re confused, as Matt’s hand leaves your face, as you begin munching on the peanut butter.

You take a while to eat the peanut butter, quietly enjoying the taste while enjoying how long you’re keeping yourself busy, since it’s taking a long time to work down the peanut butter due to how sticky it is in the roof of your mouth. When you’re done licking and enjoying the taste of the peanut butter, you look to Frank.

“What was that for?”

“Well, it kept you busy from biting, didn’t it?” He grinned. Your face is flushed as you hand him the spoon.

“Can I have some more?”

Frank chuckles and kisses you quick.

“Sure, honey.”

//

A few nights later, Frank sits on the couch of the apartment, the windows open wide as he listens to the howling wind outside. He’s waiting. Waiting for what, he doesn’t know. His skin is still hot, trying to relax after waking up from a nightmare. It’s always the same. Maria and his children, always dying in his arms. Always sitting at the kitchen table, always with you and Matt, always dead.

The chill that comes in from the window is enough to make him feel alive through as he quietly waits for Matt to get back. He’s in an old tee shirt and sweatpants, flicking his lighter on and off in the quiet as he tries to focus on something that isn’t the idea of the pair of you dead, dead like his wife, dead like his kids, dead dead dead—

“Frank? What are you doing up?” Matt’s soft voice echoes through the apartment, and his head tilts softly. He goes over to the couch, still in his full Daredevil suit. Frank stands up and goes over to him by the window, pulling off his cowl just to look at his face. His hand lands gently on Matt’s face, his thumb rubbing gently on the scars that surround Matt’s eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Matt catches the lie and does not call him out.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Frank’s jaw hardens, and even though Matt cannot see, he avoids his gaze. And in a moment of pure vulnerability, he wraps his arms around Matt, holding him close. Matt’s hand gently runs up and down his spine, trying to comfort him. After a few moments of quiet, he asks, “Do you want me to wake them up?” You were always better at making people feel better than Matt was—Especially Frank.

“Nah.. No point..” He says quietly. After a few more minutes of quiet, he feels another pair of arms wrap around him from behind, your chest against his back. You press soft kisses onto the back of his shoulders.

“Too late.” Matt hums. You’re wearing an old tee shirt of Frank’s, a pair of boxers you bought for yourself and a pair of Matt’s fuzzy socks. You stay there for a little while, sleepily hugging Frank, comforting him. Your eyes grow heavy, and slowly, you fall asleep against him, just for a moment. Then, Frank picks you up, and you wake up again, tired.

“What? What’s going on?” You ask him, and he just smiles down to you.

“We’re gonna go to bed while Red showers, and he’ll be right back.” He tells you, gently placing you on the bed. You yawn as Frank crawls into bed, and you find yourself on top of him, your legs tangled with his. You listen to Matt shower and fall asleep waiting for him to come join you. 

He comes back out with his hair wet, in just his sweatpants. He tucks himself into bed, his arms around Frank, as you sprawl out on top of them, desperately needing to be close to both. Frank is nowhere near tired. Matt knows that, and just gently kisses his hair and the back of his neck.

“You need sleep.”

“You ain’t the boss of me, red.” He grumbles, and you hush them harshly, causing them to both laugh a little bit. Matt slowly falls asleep, trying to stay awake to comfort Frank, but he’s spent his entire night beating the shit out of goons and criminals, so he’s absolutely spent. Frank tilts his head and presses another kiss to his lips. “Go to bed, I’ll be okay.” Matt wants to protest but he just buries his face in the crook of his neck.

Frank’s hands gently trail your torso a bit. His hands are rough and sort of cold, but they just explore your back as he attempts to find sleep. It’s a fruitless venture, but he doesn’t mind. He’s okay with just listening to the pair of you breathing. 

//

“Are you two wearing my flannels?” Frank has about seven flannels, and he has four in the wash and one that has a tear waiting to be fixed, so he’s looking for his spare two when he finds you painting Matt’s nails on the floor of the apartment. You’re painting Matt’s nails a nice shade of dark red, with little hearts in a lighter pink.

That had taken a lot of convincing, really, but once you had agreed not to bite him all day, he reluctantly agrees to let you paint his nails, desperately wanting to be good at something and be focused on one thing for more than twenty minutes.

Periodically, Matt’s foot will tap against your back, reminding you to adjust your posture as you work on your masterpiece. He just got done with a big court case, so he tells you he’ll maintain your artwork for at least a few days. But yeah, you two are most definitely wearing Frank’s last two flannels.

“They’re comfy,” You defend, focusing on your work. Matt’s foot taps against your tailbone to remind you to straighten your back.

Really, Frank doesn’t mind. But he enjoys fucking with the two of you, so he just smirks and sits behind the pair of you. ‘

“But they’re my clothes—”  

“Well, you should have thought about that before you left them out, Frank.” Matt smirks, knowing exactly what he’s up to.

“Besides, look how good Matt looks in your clothes!” You hum, leaning over to nudge him gently, a grin on your face. You finish up Matt’s nails, capping up the nail polish as Matt begins gently blowing in his nails to get them to dry faster. Then, you wipe your nose, thinking it’s running, and when you pull away, you see a swipe of blood on Frank’s warm flannel. Oh, fuck.

With his slightly wet nails, Matt’s movements are not nearly as quick as he would have liked as he smells the blood before the gushing really starts, ripping off a paper towel and quickly holding it under your nose, and you take it from him to hold it there as he stands up, going to get something softer like a tissue or toilet paper to pack your nose—

You hold the paper towel to your nose, and guilt already starts to eat at you, as hot tears fill your eyes and then you feel silly because you think Frank might think you’re overreacting, but you just find his hands on your shoulders as he says,

“Hey, hey, why are we crying?” And you feel even sillier.

“I ruined your flannel.”

Frank had been covered in blood more times than he could count, as has Matt—their bodies are riddled with scars, head to toe, bullet and stab wounds echoing over the rough skin of both men, mostly faded now, but Frank is no stranger to blood—It doesn’t even bother him anymore, and Matt can’t see anyways, so what does he care about the sight of blood?

But you, who cannot kill the bugs that find their ways into your apartment, who gasps and covers their mouth when you accidentally curse in church (Matt always laughs, the dick), who orders the same lunch every day and has been unable to drink anything that wasn’t ice water, are horrified at a swipe of blood on a stolen flannel.

“Oh, no, honey, you didn’t ruin anything,” He shakes his head, and gently tugs at the flannel that hangs on your arms, “Come on, let me get this off,” The Punisher’s voice is gentle, a type of gentle reserved just for you, one that the countless skeletons in his closet, all with a bullet in their skulls, do not know and could not possibly perceive. You allow him to slip the flannel off, as Matt comes back with a rolled-up tissue, before sitting in front of you, kneeling as if he’s at mass—

“Lean your head forward for me,” he asks, his hand on the side of your head, and you do, taking the paper towel away, just for Matt to gently push that bundled up piece of tissue into your nose, to get it to stop bleeding.

Your boys, they are experts at getting things to stop bleeding.

At least Matt’s nails look really nice.

Frank throws the flannel in the wash, along with the rest of your laundry, and you find yourself sandwiched between them, the perfect amount of squeezing happening on either side of you, the same affect a weighted blanket would have on you. Your hot tears roll still, quietly betraying you, as the pads of Frank’s rough fingers come up to wipe them away, and Matt’s thumb finds it’s place sitting between your lips.

You sit like this for a while—Frank pressed up against you, Matt in his flannel and you, gushing blood from your nose, packed tight with tissues, and Matt’s thumb as your favorite stim toy.

//

A few days later, you’re just decompressing from work—Your bones ache, and you’re waiting for Matt to get home, wanting to satisfy that oral fixation, as if it’s the worst craving you’ve ever had. Sensing your restlessness, Frank puts a small package in front of you. You raise your eyebrow, and look at him, skeptical.

“Is it a bomb?” He scoffs and chuckles a bit.

“Open the damn package.” His voice is laced with the smirk that sits on his face, not mad, not upset, not at all judging. Your fingers peel back the packaging, and when you’re done unwrapping, you’re left with a soft necklace, and a blue, rubber moon. You look to him curiously. “It’s uh,” he leans down so his forearms are keeping him up against the counter. “You chew on it. You’re not gonna stop bitin’ or sucking on stuff, so, you might as well bite something that isn’t human.” He tells you.

In truth, Frank had spent all damn day scrolling on your laptop, looking for the perfect fix to your problem, and grew frustrated when he realized that all the stim toys were marketed towards young boys who had the privilege of getting a diagnosis young (living with and loving two people with disabilities, as well as having horrible PTSD, has radicalized Frank Castle).

You grin when you hear his explanation, getting up and going to him, resting your hands on his shoulders before leaning up and kissing him softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Honey.”

From across the apartment, you hear the door open, and a voice calls out,

“Are you guys cheating on me? You know I can hear you across the apartment, right?” Matt’s voice calls out, and you laugh, as Frank just smiles.

“Yes, I can, Red,” He says back, before leaning in to kiss you again.

//

Your eyes are heavy with sleep as you spot Matt, laying across the couch, looking like a god damn renaissance painting. He’s so hot. You find yourself walking over to him, dropping your new necklace on the coffee table, as you climb on top of him,  finding yourself literally acting like a blanket, burying your face in his neck as his hand comes up to, like usual, let you gently suck on his fingers.

Frank rolls his eyes when he sees the pair of you cuddling, and just shakes his head when he sees the stim toy abandoned on the table. He takes out his phone and takes a picture of the pair of you, Matt just in his briefs, and you in your entire pajama ensemble.

The apartment is full of a gentle silence, as Frank watches the pair of you sleep, quietly thankful that he kept living.

[pumpkingas]

Eprocto thoughts abt spooky creatures (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

Tw: Dub/con, Necrophilia ?(Cuz... Zombies)

Zombie 🧟

Literally unable to control their bowels, being dead you don't have the most control over your body...

That sloppy loose spinchter would absolutely collect air, causing constant windy farts, and even though they function as on-command farts the smell would still be HORRID from simply passing through zombie cheeks.

Skin is probably rotting which is gross HOWEVER... It'd be extra soft and elastic, you could knead it like dough, maybe help work some of that trapped air out??

Maybe they're sentient but still hungry?? Maybe you're a zombie lover and collect piles of rotting meat from the dumpsters behind grocery stores to take to your zombie pal?? Maybe they over indulge and lie down with a huge bulging gut that stretches way beyond living limits??? Maybe bubbly farts slip out of their ass as they groan and pant??? Maybe all the blood from that red meat sends them into a burping fit???

Werewolf 🌕

I think we can all agree werewolf diets are GNARLY, if not for being their soulmate/Luna/omega (and so on and so forth), they'd probably eat YOU if given the chance. Expect your freezer to be emptied out obviously, but also your refrigerator and cabinets. Raw meat, deli meat and nut bars will start to go missing, but soon it will be sauce bottles, leftovers with freezer burn, jars of olives and all kinds of pickled foods. Their breath will quickly smell like vomit if you don't own a werewolf proof kiddie gate.

Although they have stomachs of steel and likely wouldn't experience stomach troubles or bloating, you'll quickly become witness to the nastiest farts ever released into the atmosphere. They'd range from loud and quick duck quacks to long rumbling motor engine farts. The smell might not compare to rotting meat levels but werewolf stench will NEVER leave you, it will singe your nose hairs, coat your walls, sink into your fabrics, even soak into leather, like a skunk gone wrong.

Even if they're in their human form that ass is still going to be COVERED in hair, no matter the age, gender, sex, whatever, what's a wereWOLF without its fur? And how willing are you to spend hours helping a gassy werewolf wash the jungle in-between their fat cheeks?

If you're in its pack or are at least a candidate to join you HAVE to be scented, can't walk around like you're just anyone's human! Maybe it's a thrilling loving process where your werewolf lover sits on your naked form and carefully pushes fart after fart onto each and every body part of yours. Or maybe it's a secretive process from a werewolf that hasn't revealed itself yet, helping with the laundry just to rub your clothing against their crack, working up a sweat so they can drain the sweat drops into your body spray, shampoo and lotion. Taking a nap with your toothbrush between their ass so each bristle will be stained with their scent...

Vampires 🦇

Farts are quiet and SBDs are frequent but not mandatory, usually their gas releases in sort of a hum that vibrates whatever they're sitting on or laying against. Perhaps they have a form of fart echolocation, maybe you've planned a surprise party for a vampire as they got bored of birthdays after their 121st, and instead of reaching for the light switch they just begin to let out bubbly farts as they move around their home.

If you offer your neck to a vampire you better be aware of your diet, if the vampires lactose intolerant you better watch your dairy, if they're sensitive to raw vegetables you'd better cook yours thoroughly, and for the love of anything don't give a vegan vampire your meat eater blood, unless of course you'd like to see them grasp at their stomach and groan, releasing uncharacteristically loud farts and moaning shamelessly...

Suppose this is a vampire that's taken a liking to you, naturally you'll begin to bond with them and it'd intensify after each bite, but the thing is, there isn't exactly a limit to human devotion. One day a vampire could be nothing but someone you cross on the street who makes your heart flutter with no memory of what occurred the night before, and a year later that vampire could be your beloved owner that only speaks to you in commands, whenever they need a chair you're bending over before they can finish their sentence, and when the smell of their own gas begins to bother them how could you not dive between their cheeks and smell it?

[petermorwood]

Follow-up, as promised...

Further to this post, I went rummaging.

My stars, it turns out we've got some serious goodies at the back of the cupboard.

They've all been here long enough that @dduane and I will eat well this next week or so, but the first of them, mentioned often by Dracula Daily...

...“We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. (Cluj) Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale (AFAIK, fictional) I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called “paprika hendl” and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.”

...is this one.

This is a standard bung-it-in-the-microwave ready meal (3 mins / 700w, wait 3 mins, eat) but there's no reason why it can't be prettied up a bit.

Taste report: the flavour was creamy, buttery, paprika-y, and entirely pleasant (if there were more of these I would scoff them) and the Nockerl (mini dumplings) were properly al dente and excellent, but it was by no means "thirsty", by which I assume spicy-hot. Okay, it wasn't labelled as such, but it was even milder than any Paprikahendl I've eaten in a restaurant.

I suspect that, like most ready-meals of this kind, including curries and chili-con-carne, its spice level has been dialled down to Avoid Shocking The Customers, though TBH most German / Austrian dishes labelled Scharf, Feurig or Würzig (all meaning spicy or hot) have been lacking in the oomph department, at least for me. (Some haven't, which is always a pleasant surprise.)

I'm going to make my own Paprikahendl in the next while because I got some sweet and hot paprikas from Polonez in Dublin, and right now, DD is in the process of making Paprikaente, based on several Paprikahendl recipes and a couple of duck breasts found at the back of the freezer. I don't know if that's authentic or not, but it smells great and I don't care. :->

*****

I've suggested in another post why Jonathan Harker found this dish "thirsty".

It wasn't because he he had a wimpy English palate unaccustomed to spicy food - the Edwardian era was familiar with fiery curries from Raj India, and even featured cayenne pepper as a table condiment, complete with its own caddy and (often devil-topped) spoon...

My opinion was that Paprikahendl (Austrian) / Paprikás csirke (Hungarian) was a peasant dish, with the main part of the meal a big dish of noodles or dumplings. Those would be perked up with a sauce based on some elderly chicken which had stopped laying, well-spiced so a little could flavour a lot.

Those noodles have lots of names - nockerln on the packet I posted, also nokoldel, csipetke, spaetzle, tarhhonya and so on - and were what filled people up, with the meat accompaniment more of a relish or seasoning. In the same way, for instance, Yorkshire Pudding used to be served with gravy as a first course, so the second course of meat would go further.

Rice / bread / couscous/ pasta / mian / potatoes / fufu / polenta etc. did the same; many of these are served alongside rich, spicy, buttery etc. dishes and are now suggested as fire extinguishers for "over-hot" foods because the proportions of bland vs rich / spicy have shifted.

Back when, dinner would have been lots of name-the-regional-bland carbohydrate, along with a little bit of over-hot (or -garlicked or -herby or -smoked-bacon / sausagey) protein, which might have tasted excessive alone but would have given flavour to all that bland.

*****

Side-note: it's another possible reason, besides conspicuous consumption, for lots of spice in (rich people's) medieval dishes; in winter and spring, all that spice would have made smoked / salted / dried meat more interesting.

The business of "spices masked bad meat" is rubbish, and originated as recently as 1939 thanks to historian J.C. Drummond, who didn't know what "green" meant in food context. Green cheese = fresh cheese, green meat = un-aged meat.

Drummond assumed a recipe to change the flavour of "green venison" was to cover that it had gone off. It was in fact meant to tenderise it as if hung a few days in the cold store, but "medieval people were primitive" has always been more acceptable pop history than "medieval people were pretty smart".

*****

Harker, eating the chicken-and-sauce as The Meal (Stoker doesn't mention accompaniments or Bulk Carbs like noodles, spaetzle, etc. so you'll have to trust me), would have been like someone taking a swig of hot sauce or chomp of chilli pickle and then declaring the entire meal over-spiced or "thirsty", unaware of the proper proportions of What Goes With What.

A hotter, spicier, "thirstier" Paprikahendl would definitely go with a big mound of these little noodles, so I plan to see - and taste - how it'll work.

And how it'll look, too. :->

[wwrenwrites]

Jason Todd x Filipino! reader headcanons

A/n: i don’t care if this will be my most flopped post, I had to do God’s work

He would LOVE Filipino food

Jason is pretty open with food considering he has traveled frequently for work.

Being accustomed to seeing rice available even if it’s high in carbs lol. Started as a pancit (stir fried noodles) boy to a BIG garlic rice boy ever since you’ve introduced him to it.

Could see him really liking champorado (chocolate rice porridge) for some reason, since there is something so homey about it. Plus it’s not that sweet. He definitely have tried it with tuyo (salted dried fish) when you mentioned it but prefers it just the champorado alone.

Jason enjoys Jollibee most specifically the fried chicken, both of you have movie nights with a bucket on the coffee table with pineapple juice or alcohol. Would find Filipino spaghetti ‘meh’ cause it’s a bit too sweet for his liking but he wouldn’t mind it after a few more tries since there’s that child-like taste that makes it addicting.

Would 100% love lumpiang shanghai (Filipino spring rolls) and quotes as he explains it to Roy or any of his brothers ‘a way better version of Chinese spring rolls’, just like how you told him. He stops craving for the usual spring rolls if you guys go for Chinese take outs from then on.

Despite what the media depicts of having adobo (soy sauce & vinegar chicken stew), sinigang (tamarind stew) or ube hyped. He does think Filipino food is still very underrated compared to Thai, Chinese, Japanese etc.

Could also see him enjoying clear soup stews like pork sinigang & bulalo (clear soup with beef shanks & bone marrow) because of the homey taste versus the flavored stews but he definitely still enjoys them (also see him being a big kare- kare (peanut butter stew) lover by your influence.

Like every other man, he would be a sucker for San Miguel beer. He knew about it even before both of you were dating since there is a small Filipino town in Gotham. Considering he goes to different bars from time to time. He would enjoy the concept of food on sizzling plate but it would take time for him to actually try exotic street food specially Balut (duck embryo) lol. But he’s down for it!

Spicy White Boy

Canon- wise, he knows Portuguese and there are lots of similar words with Spanish. Which I’m sure he knows maybe the most basic and common sense ones; so Jason understanding a good amount of Tagalog shouldn’t be surprising but would baffle you when you find out he started learning bit by bit for you.

It is very impressive indeed, there are not a lot of good resources in studying it. However, Jason is a Wayne and if his father was able to learn Kryptonian. He would easily be in a level of fluency by time.

And being the intelligent simp he is. He would understand it in a good level in less than a year or two when both of you are pretty much ‘all in’ in the relationship. Especially when you brought up one time before you were both exclusive, that you were scared of the idea of your partner being left out in family events even if English is pretty much the second main language in the Philippines.

Though I feel he would have more confidence in trying to speak the language after a few more years including a few slangs cause he doesn’t want to handle the anxiety of being roasted by your family & friends even if he obviously has thick-ass skin.

You keep telling him that he has already won his parents approval (too fast) when he swoon them with just the use of ‘po’ and ‘opo’ the first time meeting them. Plus the very occasional whispers of ‘gwapo’ , handsome, or ‘matangkad’, tall, here and there would give him a mix of a sheepish ego boost.

Culture Differences

THE ‘NO SHOES IN THE HOUSE’ RULE is a mutual practice that both of you have no problem doing. It has always been a routine for Jason when he gets home and right away he would wash up just so he could be in bed with you.

The no shoes rule seems to be only followed by Alfred when he drops by with groceries for him in his apartment. It bewilders his siblings when he makes a big deal out of it even if they are just dropping by (uninvited as usual) but also more like so you wouldn’t get triggered if you get to meet them but frankly it triggers Jason more since he’s quite neat as a roomie (plus future hubby points too.)

THE FAMILY CULTURE in a Filipino household is usually a mix of chaos and laughter which Jason is quite familiar with but with your family he could tell how close all of you are from all the frequent get together celebrations or holiday trips.

But also he was told a few times from some neighborhood titos (uncle) when he was still in the streets that the number 1 rule when dating a pinoy (shortened term for Filipino) is if you’re ‘dating a Filipino you’re also dating their whole family.’ You even tell him when you show pictures of your immediate relatives and family, that it’s basically a whole village if you include your extended relatives which shocks him even more. You don’t even know who are all your aunts or uncles names nor your second cousins.

You gave him a heads up and number of pointers to Jason when you were both talking about your families plus the never ending group pictures and selfies that awaits. You get worried if he would be overwhelmed even if he tells you, “Doll, don’t worry you literally met mine” “It’s not the same.” With a kiss on your forehead and the cute pout he loves still present.

He immediately gets interrogated and compliments which takes him a back getting him a bit shy. Would vibe with your cousins and would be forced to sing. The karaoke machine playing till midnight, the never ending food being offered in his plate but also your baby cousins getting attached to him which you greatly adore. He would purposely annoy you with flirty gestures in front of your cousins just for you to swat his arm or his biceps multiple times getting a reaction from your comments mixed of ‘yiee’ or ‘landi!’(flirt).

SOUVENIRS in Filipino is pasalubong, and it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re materialistic it’s more of the thought when a person is away; may it be for family & friends.

Jason bringing home food or snacks when he goes out or something unique when coming from a long mission for you has been natural. You don’t expect him to always bring something home for you of course. Fortunately, Jason loves spoiling you and seeing you sulk when you rummage his duffle bag filled with used clothes and is helmet is too cute. Plus, this is definitely one of the first words he would understand besides the word ‘makulit’ (a neutral connotation of annoying, cheeky, and naughty combined.) and other cuss words.

The first time Jason brings you to the Wayne manor Alfred and Bruce immediately doesn’t see you as a threat especially with a bottle of wine or fruits as formalities. You panic a bit when both of you weren’t able to bring anything to the manor every time you go after that, he has to reassure you it’s fine. Though he appreciates and finds it adorable on how much his family becomes fond of you because of how genuine you are.

When you and Jason travel, you would be having an extra luggage for goodies and shopping and would get endless teasing from Jason. You would tease him back though if he needs something but you would also use his luggage as well if needed for everything you bought.

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday

I’m so close to the finish line on The Lightning Amnesia Fic, literally just have to write a few paragraphs that will link scene A (domestic family time) to scene B (sexy times for the boys), but words and ideas are not flowing.

Anyway … here is some Buckley-Diaz family domesticity (this is set the next day/night after Buck gets his memories back)

Even though Buck does most of the cooking when he’s over, preparing dinner is a family affair. Chris loves helping Buck in the kitchen, whether it’s chopping vegetables or stirring sauce. Eddie often finds himself stopping his task to just watch them exist together, tonight being no exception. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have someone in his life who not only loves him, but also loves his son. Buck literally battled against a tsunami for Chris, not stopping until he was safe in Eddie’s arms. It’s that kind of devotion that had him writing Buck into his will, and had him falling in love. Because Buck doesn’t just love Chris, he loves him like he’s his own, and Eddie hopes that someday soon they can make that official.

“Eddie? You okay?” Buck’s voice cuts through his musings and he looks over to see both Buck and Chris staring at him.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Just spaced out a little”

Buck turns back to the stove and stirs the filling for their sloppy joe’s before setting it to a simmer. “What’s got you spacing out?”

“Was just thinking about how lucky I am. I’ve got the best kid and the best boyfriend —”

Buck ducks his head, cheeks turning a soft pink, while Chris rolls his eyes dramatically. “Ugh dad, gross”

Eddie throws his hands up in defense, “What?! I didn’t even do anything!”

Chris levels his dad with his signature unamused preteen stare, “Tell that to your heart eyes”

“My heart eyes?” He scrunches his nose and turns to Buck for help, only to be met with soft blue eyes and a sympathetic smile.

“You do have heart eyes”

“What? What does that even mean?”

“And right in front of my salad too” Chris looks down at the half made salad in front of him, then slides his gaze over to Buck before they both dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Eddie throws his hands up in exasperation, “I’ll never understand the two of you”, which just makes them laugh harder. This, Eddie thinks, this right here is home. The three of them cooking dinner together as a family, their kid making jokes at their expense, laughter a melody on the air. He walks up behind Buck, ruffling Chris’s hair as he passes by, and wraps his arms around Buck’s middle, placing a kiss to the back of his neck before nuzzling in close. He feels Buck melt back into his embrace, one hand coming to rest on top of his own, the other reaching up to the side of Eddie’s head to run through hair. Eddie lets out a satisfied hum, lips finding purchase on the underside of Buck’s jaw.

“I’m still here you know”

No pressure tagging: @callaplums @callmenewbie @captain-hen @cowboy-buck @devirnis @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @eddiediaztho @fortheloveofbuddie @forthewolves @glorious-spoon @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @messyhairdiaz @prettyboybuckley @rainbow-nerdss @rewritetheending @spotsandsocks @shitouttabuck @thewolvesof1998 @try-set-me-on-fire @wikiangela @wildlife4life @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @fiona-fififi and anyone else who wants to share something from a fic they’re working on ☺️

[thesakuragarnet]

Pillow Talk

Summary: Toya is finally ready to take his and Hawks' relationship to the next level. (Another oneshot in my Civilian Social Worker Toya X Pro Hero Hawks AU timeline)

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY! S3XUAL TAGS WILL BE HIDDEN BELOW THE KEEP READING BUTTON!

Non-Spicy Tags: smut, DabiHawks, Civilian Social Worker Toya X Pro Hero Hawks, swearing, making out, fluff, Keigo is a good significant other, they are so in love it's disgusting

Word Count: 2,757 words

AO3 Link

Spicy Tags: first time bl0wjobs, explicit s3xual content, one partner is experienced/one partner is a virgin, consent is sexy, healthy communication is sexy, sub bottom Dabi, dom top Hawks, praise k!nk, handj0bs, aftercare, c0me swallowing, slight body worship, enthusiastic consent, feathers & featherplay

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fucking shit!” Toya shouts as he rushes back into the kitchen, realizing he completely forgot to take the lasagna out of the oven. The one night he wanted to cook dinner for his boyfriend, he’d gotten distracted by a work call and left the food in too long. Keigo would be off shift any minute, meaning he’d be walking in the door seconds after. It was the first time he was spending the night over at Toya’s apartment, and his attempt at a good impression was already slipping through the cracks. 

Toya had wanted so badly to be a hero…to be like Keigo. But…that was unrealistic. So he was forced to take the only other route that appealed to him: social work. He got kids out of homes that mimicked his own growing up. He took medication to quell his Quirk. He met Keigo in an alleyway after he had saved him from a mugger, and Kei had walked him home. They became friends…and then…after a year…something more. They weren’t official yet…mainly because Toya didn’t want his father to find out. After all, he worked closely with Hawks. They’d been dating in secret for about three months, and, finally, Toya had invited him to come over for dinner and stay the night. 

“No, no, no!” Toya hisses as he reaches for the oven door without thinking and grabs the side of the tray with bare hands. 

“FUCK!” He screams as he immediately drops the scorching hot dish, and it shatters on the floor, sending splats of lasagna all over his nice button-up shirt and pants; shards of porcelain fly everywhere. Toya’s heart sinks to the depths of hell as he hears Keigo turning the key he gave him into the door, and he freezes. 

“T? I heard a crash, is everything oka-?” Keigo’s concerned voice stops short as he walks in and sees Toya standing agitated in the kitchen, completely covered in splashes of sauce like a crime scene. Keigo quietly closes the door and clasps a hand over his mouth, as if trying not to laugh. Toya’s face turns bright red. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was just trying to make dinner, and I got distracted,” Toya mutters in agitation and embarrassment as he ducks down, disappearing behind the bar as he attempts to pick up the broken dish without slicing his fingers open. He winces as he feels the burns on his hands, though it doesn’t hold a candle to the pain he could feel while using his own Quirk. Keigo walks around the bar into the kitchen, and his eyes widen when he sees the extent of the damage. 

“Here. I got it. I got it,” Keigo offers, picking up some of the broken shards. He sharply inhales when he sees the dark burns forming on Toya’s hands. 

“Toya! Go run your hands under the water! What are you doing?!” He gasps, and Toya blinks, realizing the extent of the scalding from the dish. The flame Quirk-user gulps and nods, dropping the few pieces he picked up and running to the sink, flipping on the cold water. 

“If you wanna go jump in the shower, I can get all this cleaned up and order us something to eat instead. You don’t have to dress all fancy. I’m probably going to go ahead and change out of my Hero suit,” Keigo says with a warm smile that touches Toya to his core. Nervous out of his mind, Toya nods and hurriedly makes his way to his bedroom, keeping his head down as he leaves Kei in the kitchen. 

…

Toya sighs as he stares into the bathroom mirror, drying the last droplets of water from his hair. He hoped he hadn’t fucked everything up. He pulls on one of his old grunge band T-shirts and gray sweatpants before walking back out of his bathroom, out of the bedroom, and down the hall to his living room. He stops in the doorway when he sees Keigo facing the other direction in nothing but bright red boxers, his Hero suit discarded and hanging off the edge of the sofa. Toya’s face flushes as his boyfriend stretches, exposing all of the rippling muscles in his back. He flexes his arms in the stretch, highlighting his defined biceps, making Toya feel even fainter. He wants nothing more than for Keigo to wrap those big strong arms around him. Admittedly, it makes him feel a little self-conscious. He absentmindedly rubs his own forearms, wishing that he had an ounce of upper body strength. How could Keigo, with the sun-kissed skin and body of a Greek god, love some pasty, thin weakling like him? Yet, here he was. Keigo turns around to dig into his duffel, revealing his toned pecs and rock-hard abs, and Toya can’t tear his eyes away. Unconsciously, he bites his lip, trying not to drool over the sight…that is…until Keigo looks up and realizes he’s being watched. Toya practically trips over his own feet as he straightens up and clears his throat, trying to act natural. 

“Food’s on the way!” Keigo beams as he slips on a gray athletic T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. “Are your hands okay?” 

Toya gulps and nods, feeling his palms get sweaty. 

“Yeah. Just stung a bit,” He coughs, walking over to the couch as Keigo plops down on it, slinging his duffel back to the ground and opening his arms, beckoning Toya to join him. A small smile crawls across the social worker’s face as he snuggles up into his boyfriend’s arms, which wrap around him almost instantly. He feels incredibly safe with Keigo…safer than he’s ever felt in his entire life. 

“Thank you,” Toya mumbles appreciatively, and Keigo laughs. 

“Don’t mention it,” The Pro yawns before kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head. Toya smiles and shuffles closer, wishing he could just stay like this forever. The kind of love that Keigo provided was an unconditional breath of fresh air that he craved his entire life. For a while, he didn’t even believe in that kind of love. Now, he wanted to live in Keigo’s tender embrace. 

“How was work?” Keigo asks, his fingers dancing up Toya’s arm. 

“Stressful as always. I’m finally hitting a breakthrough though. What about you? How was the twelve hour patrol shift?” Toya replies, and Keigo huffs. 

“Twelve hours of helping old ladies cross the street. You’d think they’d learn,” He jokes, flapping his wings two times. A soft, caring smile spreads across Toya’s face as he reaches up and gently runs his fingers through Keigo’s hair. The Pro’s eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch. 

“So, besides dinner. You have anything else planned for us tonight?” Keigo hums, turning his head to softly press his lips into Toya’s open palm. Toya gulps as his heart skips a beat. 

“Well, uh…um…what time is the food getting here?” He stammers, his mind racing. There was more than one reason he wanted this night to go perfect, and he was cursing himself for how long it was taking and how sideways it was going. 

“Maybe an hour?” Hawks cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing in thought. Toya chews his bottom lip and sits up straight, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and his palms get clammy. 

“I…I’m…I’m ready, Keigo,” The white-haired man stutters, trying his best to keep his voice steady. 

“For?” Keigo asks, seeming a bit confused. Toya blinks, staring at him as if he’s waiting for Keigo to figure it out. A few seconds pass by, and then Keigo’s eyes widen. 

“ Oh . Really?” He smiles, perhaps a little too eagerly. His wings seem to puff up, and Toya shifts nervously before nodding. They had done the bare minimum of physical intimacy in their relationship; nothing more than making out like high school kids and over-the-pants action. Keigo had a body count; Toya did not, purely because he always feared that level of attachment in relationships. He wasn’t sure if it was a sense of pride or autonomy, but there was something about being completely vulnerable that made his stomach turn. Nonetheless, his heart told him that he was willing to move in that direction with Keigo. Keigo made him feel safe. Keigo made him feel loved. Keigo was different. After all, he’d been surprisingly chill with the boundaries Toya had already put in place. 

“Well…what…what exactly are you wanting to do? I only wanna do what you’re comfortable with,” Keigo says earnestly, cracking his back. Toya puts his hands on his knees as he stares into his eyes. 

“Uh…well…I…I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna fuck yet. I mean…I do . I’m just…not ready for that yet,” He speaks slowly, carefully thinking over his words. 

“But you wanna see if you can work your way up to that?” Keigo raises his eyebrow, and Toya sighs. 

“In a way…yeah…let’s just…let’s just see what happens, and if I freak out or don’t like it, then I’ll tell you,” Toya offers, feeling his face get hot. He can’t believe that he’s planning his sex life out loud like it’s another case he’s working. He feels so fucking awkward. 

“Sounds good to me,” Keigo murmurs sweetly before kissing Toya on the cheek. 

…

They’re in Toya’s bed, stripped down to their boxers, simply passionately kissing as they have been for months. They’re lying on their sides, Keigo’s wing draped protectively over Toya and pulling him in close as Toya’s hands run through Keigo’s hair. Keigo cups the side of Toya’s face as he slips his tongue into his mouth, eliciting a choked whimper from his boyfriend. Slowly, Toya feels Keigo’s hands sinking lower, down his neck, brushing over his chest, slowly down his abdomen…feathers pull off both of their boxers...

“Mmm~” Toya moans into Keigo’s mouth as Keigo gently grips his half-hard cock. He greedily sucks on Keigo’s bottom lip, hands moving from the blonde tangles to the sensitive feathers. Keigo breaks free from the kiss with a lewd sigh, eyelids fluttering as Toya stares at him open-mouthed. Carefully, Keigo starts pumping his hand, and Toya completely submits. 

“So good,” Toya whines, relishing in the feeling. Something about Keigo being the one touching him made the sensation infinitely sexier. Keigo smirks devilishly, indulging in the power he has over his boyfriend. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Keigo huffs, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as his golden eyes meet Toya’s blazing cerulean. Toya’s breath falters, as if the words shake him to the very core. 

“Really?” He sighs, wondering how Keigo, with his incomparable looks, can think that he’s even close to beautiful. 

“Really,” Keigo sneers before joining their lips, and, this time, Keigo’s heartbeat skips as Toya’s hand clutches his length. Toya’s hips are moving with a mind of their own as he starts desperately thrusting into Keigo’s hand; strained, high-pitched noises of pleasure muffle in his throat as he traces his tongue along the inside of Keigo’s mouth.

“Fuck, you’re making me feel so good, baby,” Keigo growls between sloppy kisses, and Toya feels primal lust stirring in his gut.

“Keigo, I’m getting close,” Toya whimpers, his thrusts becoming spastic, and Keigo’s gaze darkens. He releases his grip before immediately disappearing beneath the sheets, and Toya’s face changes from confused and disappointed to pure ecstasy as Keigo starts sucking him off. Toya moans his boyfriend’s name over and over as his eyes roll into the back of his head. Within a few moments, his cries of pleasure turn to stutters and end with a sharp gasp. Toya’s fists clench as he spills his load down Keigo’s throat, biting his lip harshly through the orgasm as Keigo licks him clean. 

“Fffuuuck,” Toya sighs as the afterglow washes over him, and Keigo climbs back up to be eye level, his cock leaking onto Toya’s stomach.

“C-can I?” Toya stutters dumbly, looking down at Keigo’s dick, and the Hero eagerly nods. Toya takes a deep breath, softly pushing Keigo over to lie down on his back as he slowly moves down. 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Pizza!”

Toya freezes, but Keigo seems unfazed as a swarm of feathers leaves his wings and slips beneath the crack in the bedroom door. 

“I’m taking care of it,” Keigo smirks, and Toya steadies himself, carefully licking at the precum that drips down Keigo’s length. The Hero starts panting, and Toya gazes up at him as he takes him all the way into his mouth. Almost immediately, he reels back, gagging and wiping the water from his eyes. 

“You don’t have to take it all if you don’t want to,” Keigo breathes, slightly amused. Wordlessly, Toya slowly sucks him all the way back in, eyes watering as his cheeks hollow out with every movement. Keigo sighs his lover’s name as Toya slowly bobs his head up and down, his own breath staggering at the sight of Kei falling apart because of him. 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Keigo hums, reaching down to run a hand through Toya’s hair. Toya throbs at the praise, and a soft whine stifles in his throat, vibrating around Keigo’s dick. 

“Oh, so you like it when I praise you, T? Well, in that case,” Keigo huffs, and two feathers fly free from his wings before tracing across Toya’s cheeks, sweeping his jawline, as if Keigo is caressing the side of his face. “You make me feel things that nobody else can, baby. Keep doing what you’re doing. Fuck , you’re so good.”

Toya’s eyes start welling with a mix of tears from gagging and overactive emotions as he starts bobbing his head faster, trying hard not to melt under the heat of the moment.

“Such a good boy. My good boy. You’re putting me on cloud nine, baby,” Keigo moans, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the pillow as he feels the approaching climax. Toya is whimpering now, breath hissing out of his nose as he swirls his tongue before pressing it flat up against it. Tears stream down his face as he watches his partner relish in the ecstasy. 

“Close, baby. I’m close,” Keigo groans, and Toya pulls back, suckling on just the tip. 

“ Fuck ,” Keigo sputters as he spills into Toya’s mouth. Toya closes his eyes, delicately swirling his tongue until his boyfriend stops twitching. He removes his lips with a slick pop, swallowing before wiping the mix of drool and precome off of his chin and blinking away the residual tears. 

“Did…did I do okay?” Toya mumbles as if he’s ashamed, leaning back to sit on his knees. He knows Keigo has had other partners, and, with his inexperience, he can’t help but be worried about Keigo drawing comparisons. He knows he shouldn’t…but…he’s spent his whole life feeling like he isn’t good enough. 

“Okay? Touya that was fucking amazing,” Keigo chuckles as he sits up, basking in the afterglow. 

“Are you hungry?”

…

The lovers lie in bed, watching the credits to Thor: Ragnarok with an empty pizza box between them. Toya reaches over, grabbing the remote and switching off the television while Keigo’s feathers send the pizza box to the trash can and turn off the light. His wings immediately envelop Toya, who promptly snuggles up close to him, burying his face in Keigo’s pecs. 

“I love you,” Keigo whispers, and Toya can’t help but grin. He’d heard him say it for the first time last week, and it still gave him butterflies every time. 

“I love you, too,” Toya mumbles, focusing on the feeling of Kei’s feathers on his back. 

“And you promise you were okay with everything we did today? Everything I did? And you? I don’t ever want you to feel forced to do anything, Toya. I want you to know you don’t have to reciprocate if you aren’t ready to take that step," Keigo murmurs sweetly before kissing the top of his head. 

“Yeah, Kei. It was…fun, I guess. I’m…I’m not sure what to call it, but I liked it,” Toya yawns, wrapping his arms around Keigo to pull him closer. 

“Good, I had fun, too. Do you want me to stick around for breakfast tomorrow? I wasn’t sure if you had plans, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Keigo stammers, almost sounding nervous. 

“Stay as long as you want, Birdbrain,” Toya smirks as he feels himself drifts off to sleep.

[joshualunacreations]

U.S. audiences enjoy survival horror stories with Asians in Asia, like Squid Game and Battle Royale. But they don’t want to acknowledge that Asian Americans’ lived reality is a survival horror too.

I have mixed feelings about Squid Game's success. I enjoy the survival horror genre as both a writer and consumer, but seeing how non-Asian U.S. audiences reacted to it in the midst of violent anti-Asian hate crimes left me wondering about the reason for the show's U.S. appeal.

Violence against Asians—particularly when done en masse—is so normalized that I wonder if this type of media provides catharsis to racists. News of hate crimes might briefly force them to feel guilty, but when they see fictional violence against Asians, they can cheer for it. It's as if it evokes the imagery Americans are most familiar with: slaughtering Asians by the dozens or even thousands, a legacy of numerous U.S. wars in Asia. The victims are nameless and unimportant. They're just a statistic, a plot point. One more to add to the body count.

Also, the U.S. loves using Asians in Asia as media replacements for AsAms. It simultaneously reinforces Asians as perpetual foreigners, and prevents giving a microphone to the type of Asian American who would unflinchingly discuss anti-Asian racism and challenge the status quo.

Asian men especially are seen as disposable targets with no humanity and no purpose other than to be mocked and slaughtered on screen. Deadpool, Daredevil, Avengers, Bullet Train, Kill Bill, etc. feature scenes where a protagonist cuts down hordes of Asian men in seconds.

This has real-life consequences. Hate crimes against AAPI men have been purposely belittled, hidden, and ignored—even in media narratives that purport to draw attention to anti-Asian racism. It becomes a feedback loop that double-victimizes AAPI men. (see my data thread)

The hatred of Asian men is so normalized that in AsAm spaces the only acceptable Asian male victim to publicly mention is Vincent Chin, who was murdered 40 years ago. There have been many Vincent Chins since then. But victims get reduced to headlines like "killed over duck sauce.”

Instead, when anti-Asian hate crimes are discussed, it's limited to a narrow range of experience, privileging East Asian women over pretty much all other Asians. This erasure is harmful on many levels and has still not been corrected or even acknowledged. (see my data thread)

I think many AsAms feel like Asian Twitter recently died. But for me, it died several years ago, when Asians with media power decided that all of this harm and imbalance was not only normal, but good. Our community has been broken for a long time. They don't want to fix it.

So does this mean Squid Game, Battle Royale, etc. are bad stories? No. It means we need better real-life conversations and efforts to understand what anti-Asian racism is and how to fix it. Survival horror is a fun thought experiment—until you realize you're living in one.

(Please don’t repost or edit my art. Reblogs are always appreciated.)

If you enjoy my comics, please pledge to my Patreon or donate to my Paypal. https://twitter.com/Joshua_Luna/status/1134522555744866304 https://patreon.com/joshualuna https://www.paypal.com/paypalme2/JoshuaLunaComics

[kjack89]

Thankful

Because it's that time of year.

Established E/R, modern AU. TW: homophobia, transphobia, terrible families.

Enjolras turned to Grantaire, a look of mild panic on his face. “You don’t have to do this,” he blurted.

“You mentioned that already,” Grantaire said patiently. “Several times in fact. And that was just in the last ten minutes.”

Enjolras scowled. “I just mean, I would not blame you if you decided you would rather be anywhere but here, and decided to duck out accordingly.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “And leave you to face your family alone? Give me some credit for being a slightly better human being than that.” He made a face. “Emphasis on slightly. Besides, I was told there would be quite the selection of wine, and you know as well as I do that I am nothing if not a sucker for a well-stocked wine cellar.”

“That’s about the only thing I can guarantee,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I mean, I assume you can guarantee there will be a turkey.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Ok, fine, that too—”

“And assumedly the usual accouterments therein: the cranberry sauce, the mashed potatoes and gravy, the stuffing – or does your family call it dressing? – the green bean casserole, the pie—”

Enjolras cut him off. “Grantaire.”

“What, you can’t guarantee pie?” Grantaire asked innocently.

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes, this time accompanied by a huffed sigh. “There will be pie.”

“Then everything is going to turn out fine,” Grantaire said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “That’s my guarantee.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You can’t promise that.”

“Sure I can,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Because the moment you’re about ready to lose it on your QAnon-believing uncle or whatever, I will whisk you away into another room until you’ve calmed down.”

“I wish I had a QAnon-believing uncle,” Enjolras sighed.

Again Grantaire gave him a look. “Do you?”

Enjolras pursed his lips. “No, probably not. But it’d be easier because at least it’s easy to identify that level of batshit insanity.” His expression soured. “Here it’s going to be all tight smiles and passive aggressive comments wrapped in Midwestern niceness.”

“See, and you thought I would rather be anywhere else, but with all that in store—” Enjolras didn’t look amused and Grantaire sighed. “Look, it’s a few hours. And even if it all goes to hell, at least we will get a meal out of it.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

Grantaire was saved from having to answer that question by the front door opening and a petite blonde woman with eyes the exact same shade of blue as Enjolras’s giving them both a look. “It’s rude to keep everyone waiting,” she said in lieu of a greeting and Grantaire watched seemingly every muscle in Enjolras’s shoulders tense at once.

“Mother,” Enjolras said, a little stiffly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Happy Thanksgiving.” He cleared his throat before adding, a little pointedly, “And you remember Grantaire, my—”

“Friend, of course,” Mrs. Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a once-over before offering her hand for him to shake.

Enjolras’s eye twitched but Grantaire just gave her a charming smile. “I think you missed the word ‘boy’ in front of ‘friend’,” he said cheerfully as he shook her hand. “Easy mistake. That’s why I prefer to refer to myself as Enjolras’s partner.”

Mrs. Enjolras’s smile wavered, ever so slightly, before she forced it back to its full brightness. “Well,” she said briskly, “you both better get inside before we all catch our deaths out here.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire a pleading look, and Grantaire just put his hand on Enjolras’s lower back. “Trust me,” he murmured in an undertone, “death is not preferable to Thanksgiving with your family.”

“Wait two hours and try telling me that,” Enjolras shot back before they both stepped inside.

— — — — —

It was, all things considered, not as bad as Grantaire had expected from the myriad ways Enjolras had described how blatantly homophobic his family was.

Then again, Grantaire was almost all the way through a bottle of petite sirah, which was likely coloring his opinion.

His mother had whisked Enjolras into the kitchen, and Grantaire could only imagine what special kind of torture that was, especially since Enjolras and cooking didn’t exactly go together under the best of circumstances. But that left Grantaire sitting in the living room with all the other men, most of whom barely acknowledged his presence with anything more than a grunt without looking away from the football game on the TV.

To his credit, Enjolras’s dad attempted something like conversation. “Do you like football?” he asked, even though his tone indicated he didn’t really care about Grantaire’s answer.

“You know, I can’t really say it’s my sport,” Grantaire said mildly.

One of Grantaire uncle’s glanced at him. “What is your sport?” he asked, something already disapproving in his voice.

Grantaire figured it would be a shame to disappoint him. “Oh, I’m big into competitive knitting,” he said brightly.

It was obviously a joke, but the uncle just huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

“You’re not into knitting?” Grantaire asked, keeping his voice pleasant.

“I’m into men’s sports,” the uncle said dryly.

As much as Grantaire wanted to get into how knitting wasn’t just for women, he figured now was not the time. “Well, I’ve always been fond of baseball, for whatever that’s worth,” he said, as some sort of peace offering.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” Enjolras’s uncle said, and Grantaire honestly wasn’t even sure what to say to that. Especially when it was followed by a pointed, “So, uh, are you more of a catcher, or a pitcher?”

There was no mistaking what he meant by that, and Grantaire gave him a cold smile. “I played shortstop, actually. Until I turned 16 and took up boxing instead.” There was just enough of an implicit threat there that Grantaire felt it was a good time to stand and say, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am in need of a refill.”

Luckily, as he was dumping the last of the bottle into his glass, Enjolras came out to join him, his expression tight. “You ok?” he asked Grantaire, searching his face for a moment.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire assured him. “Nothing I can’t handle. You, on the other hand—”

“Do not get me started,” Enjolras said sharply.

Grantaire snorted. “Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“My aunt is convinced that schools are putting litterboxes in bathrooms for students that identify as cats,” Enjolras said grimly.

Grantaire blinked. “Hasn’t that been debunked, like, a hundred times over?”

“Yeah but she ‘has a source’.” Enjolras shook his head. “It’s fucking psychotic. It’s this kind of shit that led that the shooting at Club Q, that’s led to hundreds of attacks across the country and is only going to incite more—”

“Sweetheart, do you think you should keep your voice down?” Enjolras’s mother interrupted, frowning slightly at the both of them.

Grantaire could practically hear Enjolras’s teeth grinding together. “No, I really don’t think I should, but thanks, Mother.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, dear,” Enjolras’s mother said. “Now come help me set the table.”

Grantaire drained his glass of wine before offering, “I can help, too.”

Enjolras’s mother just shooed him away. “Don’t be silly, you’re a guest.”

Well. Guest was certainly one word for it.

For a lack of anything better to do, Grantaire wandered over to where a gaggle of Enjolras’s aunts were sitting. “Ladies,” he said, flashing them his most charming smile. “Does anyone need a refill?”

“Oh, no, dear, thank you,” though, one said, with the most genuine smile Grantaire had seen all evening.

Another eyed him warily. “I heard that you have a special connection to our nephew,” she said, and Grantaire felt his smile slip, just for a moment.

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” he said.

She cocked her head. “How would you put it?”

Despite himself, despite the circumstances, Grantaire couldn’t quite stop his idiotic grin as he said, “Honestly? He’s the love of my life.”

“That’s very sweet,” the first aunt said, giving the second a look before prodding, “Don’t you think that’s sweet?”

“It’s very sweet,” the second aunt said, seemingly reluctantly, and she punctuated it by giving Grantaire a beatific smile and telling him, “I’ll keep you both in my prayers.”

“Same to you,” Grantaire said with a tight smile before making his escape down to the basement to finally get another bottle of wine and the refill he so desperately needed.

— — — — —

Grantaire hurried out of the kitchen, trying not to spill his glass of wine as he pulled out the chair next to Enjolras. “Sorry,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later—”

“Oh, Grantaire, you’re sitting at the other end of the table,” Enjolras’s mother said as she carried the first dishes out.

Enjolras glared at her. “What’s wrong with the seat next to me?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“It’s where your grandmother will be sitting,” his mother told him. “We wanted to keep the couples together.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened. “And Grantaire and I don’t count?”

His mother rolled her eyes, which frankly made her look all the more terrifyingly similar to her son. “I didn’t say that,” she chided.

“Pretty sure you did,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire forced a smile. “It’s fine,” he said, more to Enjolras than to her. “Just make sure there’s still some dark meat by the time the turkey makes its way to me.”

Enjolras’s mother let out a tinkling, humorless laugh before going back into the kitchen and Enjolras frowned up at him. “It’s not fine,” he said, his voice low.

“No,” Grantaire agreed. “But it’s manageable.”

With that, he took his glass of wine to the empty seat at the other end of the table, finding himself seated right next to the aunt who was going to pray for him because of course he was. For all of Bossuet’s talk about bad luck, Grantaire was pretty sure he could give him a run for his money.

He didn’t attempt much small talk, figuring it was safer to just listen to the conversation around him while the food was passed around. Not that he needed to say mouch, since Enjolras was doing plenty of talking for the both of them. Mostly to his mother and father, neither of whom seemed particularly thrilled.

“For the last time,” Enjolras’s father said as he passed the sweet potatoes, “we don’t talk politics at the dinner table.”

“And for the last time,” Enjolras said, his voice low and dangerous, “me being allowed to sit with my partner is not political.”

“It shouldn’t be,” his mother agreed, “but it’s your people, dear, who always make these things so political.”

“My people?” Enjolras repeated, incredulous, and Grantaire took as big a swig of wine as he could manage. “You really want to talk about my people?”

He was half-shouting by the end of the statement and all other conversation at the table faltered. Enjolras’s mother pasted a smile on her face even as she hissed at her son through clenched teeth, “We will finish this conversation later.”

“No,” Enjolras said, and to his credit, he was no longer shouting.

In fact, he was perfectly calm.

And Grantaire alone at that table understood just how dangerous that was.

“I have sat here and I have listened to all of you make your passive aggressive, snide comments about me and my partner, who is a guest at this table,” Enjolras said, still calmly, almost pleasantly, even. “But basic hospitality seems to be beyond this room right about now. So you know what I’m thankful for? I’m thankful for the fact that I am an adult, and the roof over my head is no longer contingent on my ability to sit here and take this. So I won’t be.” He stood, tossing his napkin down on his untouched plate of food and looking down the table at Grantaire. “Grantaire – let’s go.”

Grantaire didn’t hesitate, standing as well as the entire table erupted. Enjolras’s mother clutched his arm, trying to pull him back into his seat. “Enjolras, be serious—”

“Haven’t you heard?” Grantaire asked, grinning, as he reached Enjolras’s side and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “He is wild.”

Enjolras smiled gratefully at him, squeezing his hand. “Let me just grab my bag,” Grantaire told him in an undertone, slipping into the kitchen and back out again before again taking Enjolras’s hand. “Let’s go.”

And because he was an ass, as they left, he couldn’t help but toss over his shoulder a cheerful, “See you at Christmas!”

Of course, when they got outside, they both seemed to sober up ever so slightly, though Grantaire wasn’t quite able to stop his grin. Enjolras frowned up at him. “What are you smiling about?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m just thankful,” he said, wrapping an arm around Enjolras’s shoulders.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “What could you possibly be thankful for?”

“That your mother showed me where the tupperware was before she took all the dishes out to the table.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “You’re not telling me—”

Grantaire’s grinned widened, and he held up his bag, which was significantly heavier than it had been on the way in. “Two entire Thanksgiving plates, a full bottle wine, and a little extra food because fuck your family.”

Enjolras just shook his head slowly, a small smile stretching across his face. “How’d you know?” he asked, and Grantaire just gave him a look.

“Please,” he said dismissively. “With the way things were going I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did. So I figured I’d be ready just in case we needed to make a quick escape.”

Enjolras shook his head again, this time with something like wonder, and took Grantaire’s hand. “Sorry we didn’t get pie, though.”

Grantaire laughed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he assured him. “I took an entire pumpkin pie. One of your aunts will be missing her Le Creuset pie dish, but I suppose we can always bring it back next year.”

“You—” Enjolras broke off and grabbed Grantaire by the lapels of his coat, tugging him close. “C’mere.”

They kissed for a long moment, a kiss that was honestly a little filthier than either would normally go for, but it seemed like a fitting ‘fuck you’ to end the evening. When they broke apart, Grantaire again draped his arm over Enjolras’s shoulder as they ambled toward the car. He glanced at Enjolras, who was still grinning, and nudged him. “Now what are you smiling about?”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m just really thankful for you,” he said, leaning up to kiss Grantaire once more.

“I love you,” Grantaire told him, before adding, “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Enjolras just laughed. “Thank God.”

[spotsandsocks]

And It's There When You Call Out My Name

Companion fic/part two to this fic posted last week And its there when I look in your eyes Read it here first from Buck's pov

Read on AO3 2k Teen

It’s just an ordinary evening; no different from so many others he’s had with Buck and ordinary might sound dull to some people but Eddie loves ordinary. His eyes follow Buck around the kitchen. It’s not the only thing he loves.

The amount of pleasure he gets from being here, talking about ordinary things, helping to cook or clean up afterwards is ridiculous.

He’s happy and it’s been a long time since Eddie could say that. It’s been a hell of a journey to get himself to this point but he’s not had to do it alone. The thought makes him smile.

They move around the kitchen together, a seamless dance of two people who know each other down to the bone. Buck takes the last plate from his hand with a smile.

So, Eddie’s not alone. Not anymore. He’s in Buck’s kitchen and it feels like home, no, he corrects himself because that’s not quite right; it’s Buck who feels like home, wherever he is, that’s where Eddie wants to be. It’s one of the reasons he knows he’s in love, his stomach gives a pleasant little flip at the thought. 

And it’s why evenings like this have become the norm for them now, Eddie’s allowed himself that much, a slow slide into Buck's life and Buck’s happily let him in. So now it’s either Eddie and Chris at Buck’s or him at theirs. It all adds up to more time together than apart. More evenings like this than he can count. 

Then Buck turns and he has a smudge of pasta sauce on his face and with all that love in his heart and unfortunately not a single thought in his head Eddie reaches out and wipes it away and with that one simple gesture everything changes.

He knows what’s happened straight away. He can read that face without any effort at all. No one understands Buck like he does, which means  he has to act quickly because everything they have is going to vanish if he doesn’t. 

The man he loves has gone rigid, blue eyes wide and terrified because he’s finally noticed. He finally knows. And he’s not ready, but then Eddie already knew that, it’s why he hasn’t said anything.

Eddie holds in his sigh, despite all his efforts it was inevitable that one day Buck would see, after all, how can all that love truly stay hidden. 

Yes, Eddie thinks, inevitable, from the second Evan Buckley ducked his head and smiled his way around the words ‘who me?’ 

How it’s taken Buck this long to work it all out is a mystery because Eddie is very aware he’s been looking at him a certain way for a long time. He’s tried, not to hide it exactly, but to damp it down, keep the love muted to an acceptable level of affection for a best friend. 

Ultimately it hasn’t worked, but what was he expecting, his heart has been bleeding into his eyes for years, ever since Buck had seen him struggling and stepped into his mess. 

It had been overwhelming at first, realizing that someone, still almost a stranger to him, had wanted to help and had always found the perfect way to do it. First  when he’d called ahead to tell Bobby Chris needed a place to stay, then introducing him to Carla. After that there was Christmas and skateboards and never ending support. How could he not fall for him and how could he keep those feelings from showing when he looked Buck’s way.

He knows his heart had been firmly in his eyes when he told Buck there was no one he trusted more with his son and his heart was definitely bleeding when he yelled at him in a grocery store, missing him so desperately it hurt. 

Later he’d been unable to keep the love he was starting to understand from his face as he’d said ‘I know you did’ when Buck had risked everything because his own heart was breaking.

The love he could barely allow himself to acknowledge had bled out along with his body, spilling over hot LA asphalt when he’d held onto Buck’s eyes, until his own had closed against his will. 

He thinks now that he’d hoped Buck would see then but he hadn't; he also hadn’t understood what he’d tried to say with his words and his eyes in the hospital.

And then after all that - those blue eyes had been the lifeline that held him together and kept him tethered to a hope of a brighter future. 

How is love like that meant to stay secret? Inevitably it doesn’t, you can’t hide all that forever so now Buck knows and while Eddie isn’t that sorry about it, he does wish the poor man didn’t look like Bambi caught in headlights.

It’s clear Buck isn’t ready to accept that kind of love. He's only known for a few seconds and already he’s spiraling. Eddie can hear every word running through his head. If he can’t stop him, Buck is going to panic and do something they’ll both regret. He jumps in with a gentle but firm voice.

“Stop it. God, you think so loudly.”

He's proud his voice is so calm nothing of his frantic heartbeat can be heard, he can feel it though banging fiercely against his rib cage. He desperately needs this to work. The boy behind him and the man in front of him are his whole world, his family and he will not lose that.

Each word matters, he speaks slowly, “Buck, it’s ok. Just listen, can you do that?”

There’s a glimmer of hope because Buck manages the smallest nod he’s ever seen. He gives Buck the truth and tries to hold onto his happiness;

“Buck, there’s nothing you need to do about this. Nothing you have to fix. I'm not waiting. I'm not hoping for something more.” 

God he has to make him believe and it’s all true, every word.  He just wants to keep what he has. If he can make Buck believe then everything will be ok. He manages to lock the fear growing inside him away and carries on. His voice sounds calm and steady. 

“I'm just being here with you, because this is where I want to be.”

Please let him believe that. Eddie sends his prayer into the universe. Buck looks like he’s going to bolt at any moment.

He holds onto sapphire blue eyes that glisten with unshed tears and hopes against hope that he’s not going to lose everything. All he can do is trust that Buck doesn’t want to lose this either that he’ll want to hold on as tight to ‘them’ as he does.

Buck blinks blindly but slowly reason replaces the panic and Eddie lets his smile widen. Buck’s coming back to him. His heart eases a fraction and his arms ache to hold him. He can’t do that so he settles for a hand on each of his arms, trying to push the reassurance  that they can stay just as they are into his skin. 

He keeps talking and he prays it’s enough.

“Nothing needs to change. I don’t need anything more than this Buck. I’m really happy with everything just like it is. Ok?”

With his heart beating wildly he waits for what feels like a lifetime before Buck nods and mumbles ok twice before the briefest of pauses, then this most remarkable of men resets his brain and moves onto ice cream. 

The relief almost takes him out at the knees. Buck trusts him enough to take him at his word, to believe that Eddie doesn’t need more than Buck can give. A deep steadying breath feels appropriate, he takes it and sits down with Chris to wait for ice cream and breathe slowly until his racing heart returns to its regular steady rhythm.

So nothing changes, he keeps his promise and it’s not even hard. He doesn’t change anything and neither does Buck. They stay them; Just Eddie. Just Buck. Just Eddie&Buck.

There is one slight difference though, Buck knows he’s loved now and Eddie’s glad of it. 

Every ordinary day is a gift. He has something he never had before Buck came along- someone to hold him up and push him forward, comfort and challenge him whichever is needed most. Eddie knows Buck loves him in some way, the warm quiet affection of the man he trusts with his whole soul is obvious. 

He’s not waiting for it to change, he didn’t lie to Buck about that, he has no expectation Buck’s love will ever mirror his own feelings. 

He doesn’t need any more than he has, he’s happy. He does sometimes suspect he could be happier if by some miracle anything were to change between them but he doesn’t dwell on that because he has everything he needs and he doesn’t think about wanting.

He just loves Buck, it's as simple as that, not that he’s perfect, love isn’t blind and he knows that. He knows that despite the smiles, the light he brings with him there are parts of Buck that he needs to work on, darker parts, sadder parts.

Buck sees that too and Eddie’s there for him. He’s there when he works out something needs to change and when he does the work that’s needed to make that happen. He’s there to help and offer support but mostly it’s Buck working hard, making changes. He learns about himself and he grows and Eddie can add proud to all the other emotions Buck generates in him.

Later still when Chris starts pulling away, growing up and building his own life Eddie is equal parts pride and sadness, he aches for what he’s losing but Chris is becoming who he’s meant to be and that’s the whole point of being a parent isn’t it. Buck reminds him of that and is there for him again, like he always has been. 

Even when it’s become just the two of them more often than not he doesn’t expect things to change until one night it does.

He turns to his name on Buck’s lips, he said it differently somehow, it makes him curious, sparks something inside him. Buck asks a question.

“You said once you don’t need anything more than this, but do you want more?” 

Eddie adds a frown to his smile, they went over that a long time ago, which is what he says; surely Buck can’t be worrying about that again now.  When Buck shuffles closer and reassures him he’s not worried in a voice that means something his stomach flips.

“But, do you want more” this time Buck’s meaning is clear and it sets Eddie’s heart racing. He’s spent a long time not hoping, so to be flooded with it now is a little overwhelming.

“Because if you do, could you tell so I don’t waste anymore time.”

He wants to answer but his brain’s shut down and words are a step too far. He suspects his face is painting an eloquent enough picture despite his silence because Buck’s holding his hand, fingers closing around his own.

“Please, please tell me you do.”

The quiet words, etched with longing set him free.

Buck wants him.

That means he can want too, he didn’t need it, that was never a lie, he’d have stayed forever without any more than this but if he can have more he’ll grab onto it with both hands and never let go.

The words are out of his mouth on his next breath,

“I want more, I want everything.” 

Buck’s eyes light up and Eddie’s halfway through a final check, the words “but you don’t…” barely touch his lips before Buck’s mouth is on his stealing them away.

Buck kisses him.

He's never let himself think about it, what Buck’s mouth on his would be like, how soft it would be, how he would taste, he never imagined how his hands would feel on his face or sliding down his back and pulling him closer. Now he doesn’t have to imagine, now he knows. 

He falls into the feeling, lets it soak into him like sunshine sinking into his bones, enough heat  to keep him warm for a thousand nights, bright enough to guide him home again if he was ever lost. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel lost again, not with this man by his side. 

Buck loves him so it’s ok to want, he pushes and then he has Buck beneath him, pressed into the couch and tasting of desire and devotion, of home and family. 

Buck loves him.

He can taste it, feel it in every place they’re connected. 

He hears his own name gasped out desperately and there’s love there too. 

Eddie’s known he was Buck’s for a long time but now Buck is his as well, he wasn’t expecting it, he hadn’t needed it but he’d wanted it and now he plans to take it and keep it safe and never let go.

Buck loves him and they kiss and nothing’s ever ordinary again. 

Read on AO3

Tagging people who reblogged and said nice things about part 1 @imsupposedtobewritting @buddierights @elvensorceress @ajunerose @bekkachaos @shortsighted-owl @pettyeddiediaz @alyxmastershipper @mikereads @lokisilvertongueshipsvictuuri @loveyourownsmiilee @comfortbuddie @yawningmicrobe @caroandcats @evaneds @shinedivine @diazpatcher @missoliverstark @taketheplanspinitsideways @hermscat @megslovesbooks @lilbuddie @the-likesofus

[drkineildwicks]

BH6 Snippets--7/18/2024

Eyy, been a while!

So this morning I spent a good couple of hours redoing the outline for Live and Learn 2/Ready To (Live Life Anew), AKA the sequel to (Not So) Hated by Life Itself, mostly because my original outline was getting messy and I could feel the headache I was writing myself into. And now that I have a new outline all ironed out, have some stuff fresh off the presses!

So if you asked him outright he’d deny it but Obake was starting to really like helping Cass in the kitchen, to the point that it had gone from a convenient way to duck out of patrol to something he actually looked forward to.  Not to mention that he actually did enjoy the final product, it wasn’t on the level of permanence that his machines enjoyed, but it was something that gave him a sense of accomplishment, no matter how small. Especially when he started getting into the vibe that Cass had been trying to encourage him on, on being confident enough that when he did a recipe he was familiar with he forwent consulting the recipe and the measurement devices and, as she put it, eyeballed everything.  Recipe in question being the pickled cucumber salad, which was second only to the pickled radishes in his estimation.  Finish filling the jar, tighten the lid, shake it up as he took it to the fridge, tap it once it was inside and try to smother his glee at having something to look forward to. “I saw that,” Cass teased as she took a tray of buns by.  “You’re starting to get into this, aren’t you?” “I can neither confirm nor deny this,” he said, shutting the fridge. “You like it,” she confirmed, grinning at him before putting the buns in one of the cases.  Look up when the door rang—“Hey—oh my gosh what happened to you guys?” Obake came around, drawn by her concern, saw Tadashi and Hiro looking a little rough as Baymax came in behind. “Uhhh rogue roller skates,” Tadashi offered.  “We went to the skating park with Gogo, she talked us into trying it, and we might have wiped out.” “We bladed too close to the sun,” Hiro agreed.

Actually the boys encountered Supersonic Sue but close enough. As for the pickled cucumber salad, its a jar of sliced cukes with vinegar, soy sauce, garlic, salt, and sugar added and then allowed to sit in the fridge for a few hours; I've been making it daily I love it so much. :D

Also today I learned that forwent was an actual word, honestly I was expecting the little red squiggle because it sure doesn't sound like a real word.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tti episode 8

“Last time on Total Takes Island: the teams set out on a lovely canoe trip to scenic Bony Island, where they carried their boats over two miles of treacherous jungle, featuring man-eating beavers and a few grumpy geese. O’s anxiety got the best of him, and he cost his team not one, but four players. While Ass and Courtney were busy tearing their team apart, Michael and Max were the only ones keeping theirs together. Ultimately, the Fujoshis one, and O took the walk of shame- O no! Haha. I wrote that one myself. Will the Fujoshis keep up their winning streak? Will Julia ever get over her crippling fear of geese? Find out now- on Total! Takes! Island!”

Early in the morning just outside Camp, Sha-Mod and McLovin sit on the beach, building a sand mansion together and speaking in hushed tones (though no one else is up yet).

“And, I dunno, they’re both great, but I get the vibe they don’t like each other, ya know?” McLovin says, picking up a sand dollar. 

“I can’t blame Courtney. That Ass is sha-bad news, they didn’t even apologize for crinkling my Lightning!” he exclaims, pointing to the slightly-indented photo of Lightning over his face. “They’ve been a real problem since Mal left.”

“Maybe for you,” McLovin sighs. “Since Mal’s been gone, I’ve had TWO chicks on my tail! I know I’m a catch, but geez, man!”

“Well, as long as I’m here, we can stay partnering up!” Sha-Mod announces, pointing at himself. “Avoid all the girl drama, you know?”

“Thanks, bud, I knew I could count on you,”

Sha-Mod nods as a voice blares over the intercom. “Campers! Get your white-tailed butts in gear and meet me in the mess hall for your deer-ly exciting challenge! Ahaha, I am on FIRE today!”

The intercom crackles off and McLovin and Sha-Mod give each other a perplexed expression. 

The mess hall is almost entirely silent as the campers yawn and stretch, tending to bug bites and trying to down the bitter coffee from Chef’s breakfast ensemble. 

Scruffy carries a tray back to the Anon’s table, making a point to sit away from Michael as Julia, on her left side, glares daggers in everyone else’s direction. Max comes next, making fleeting eye contact with Michael before sitting on the other side of Scruffy. 

---

MICHAEL: “I really don’t get it. Just when I thought we were starting to get along, he gives me the cold shoulder! After I saved his ass, too! Maybe Julia was right…”

---

Staci sits on the other side of Michael instead, smiling brightly and spooning the apple sauce-like substance Chef was serving. “So… has anyone kin-assigned you two yet?”

Julia raises an eyebrow. “Has anyone what?”

“Oh, you know how I’m literally Staci from Revenge of the Island? I’ve been helping everyone on the team find their inner kins, too! Well… I haven’t told them yet, but I’ve been keeping a list,” Staci grins, pulling out a thick, fuzzy pink diary and dropping it on the table. “Ok, so, Max is Scarlett from Pahkitew (ironically, hah), Scary is Scary Girl from the 2023 reboot, Scruffy is Sierra… hmmm,”

Staci takes a moment to scan the two girls over, judging their facial expressions and body language before smiling and nodding. “Gwen and Heather,”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the standard loner and popular mean girl dynamic, duh,”

Michael rolls her eyes. “Not to rain on your parade, but doesn’t this whole kin-assigning thing feel like yet another way to be forcibly labeled based off of surface-level traits?”

“That’s such a Gwen answer,”

“Okay, I’m outta here,” Michael says, climbing over the bench. 

Chris suddenly ducks inside the hall, grinning widely. “Hope you’re all enjoying your breakfast, campers, because this challenge is gonna be a doozy! Outside, you'll find your supplies for today’s, um, adventure,”

The campers look nervous and stand, following Chris outside to where two large crates are waiting, unopened. Scruffy shakes their head. 

“Today’s challenge is a personal favorite of mine: hunting!” he beams, opening a crate and pulling out a neon pink paintball gun. “Unfortunately, due to province law, I can’t give you anything more powerful than paint without getting everyone a license, which sounds boooring!” he tosses the paintball gun to Courtney. 

“Welcome to the second ever paintball deer hunt! Now, normally, I’d assign hunters and deer for you, but I think it’d be funnier to watch you all sort it out. You have five minutes to decide who’s hunting- and who’s being hunted!”

The teams give each other anxious glances as Chris walks away. 

Courtney turns to the Fujoshis and tosses the gun in their hands to Sha-Mod. 

---

COURTNEY: “Believe it or not, I am a very non-confrontational person. My strategy from the beginning has been the fly under the radar and focus on defense rather than offense. Hunting? No can do. But I can hide!”

---

“If Sha-Mod is a hunter, I wanna be a hunter, too!” McLovin yells, waving his hand around. Courtney shrugs and tosses him a gun from the crate. 

“Oh, me, too. Those little deer outfits are terrible,” Ass nods. Courtney hesitates for a moment, gun still in their hands until Caesar butts in. 

“Um, no. I’m not getting paint on this suit. Gun me, please,” he extends his hands. 

“I was first!”

“Rock paper scissors for it?”

Both hold their palms flat in front of them and tap their fists against them three times. As Ass throws scissors, Caesar walks behind them and takes the gun and safety glasses from Courtney. 

“Hey! I thought we were playing for that!”

“What are you, five?” Caesar chuckles. “Come on, Bonbon, let’s go find somewhere quiet.”

Bonnie adjusts the deer tail and antler headband before walking off into the woods with Caesar. Ass sighs, but puts on the accessories with Courtney without another complaint. McLovin and Sha-Mod fist-bump, and then run into the woods together. 

“Obviously, I’ll be taking one of these,” Max says, picking a neon blue gun from the crate. “Let’s see… Scary?”

Scary growls at him, but accepts their paintball gun and safety gear anyway before bounding off into the woods, giggling. 

“Hm…” Max surveys the rest of the team. “S-”

“I volunteer!” Staci yells, waving their hand in the air. “My aunt’s husband’s grandfather taught me how to shoot, and my great-great-great-”

“Alright! Just take it!” Max shoves the gun into their arms. “Anyone else?”

Michael smiles, and opens her mouth. “I-”

“Kelly!” Max says, tossing them the gun before pointing ahead and walking straight past Michael. “Alright, let’s move out.”

---

MICHAEL: “...am I crazy? Am I going insane? Is that it? Did I just imagine everything?!”

---

MAX: “Michael is a liability to the team. She’s a good player, but she’s distracting me. I mean, she’s a distraction,” he pauses, crossing his arms and glaring at the camera. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

---

“Does this tail make my arse look big, baby?” Austin asks, looking around his back. 

“Yes, dear,” Kelly says, loading their gun with blue paintballs. 

“Groovy!” 

The two walk through the woods, holding hands and paying little attention to their surroundings. The morning sun shines through the foliage above as they enter a clearing. 

“Wanna help me practice?” Kelly smiles, finishing up on their gun. 

---

Austin takes a bite out of the apple Kelly handed him before putting it on his head and standing still with his back against a tree. 

Kelly holds the gun’s aim up to her left eye, closing her right and taking aim. 

“Are you sure this is safe, baby?”

“Yeah, I saw it in a movie once,” 

“Well, in that case, fire away!” Austin beams, putting his hands on his hips.

Kelly readjusts the gun once again and aims, then re-aims it, before finally pulling the trigger. 

Click. 

Nothing happens. Austin keeps smiling, still frozen in place. “I’m waiting, baby!”

Kelly pulls the trigger again- still, nothing. They frown and lower the gun. “I think this one’s jammed or something,” 

Austin slouches and the apple rolls off his head. He walks over and Kelly hands him the gun, which he inspects thoroughly by looking straight down the barrel. “I don’t see anything, baby,”

“Maybe it’s the trigger. What’re we gonna do?”

Austin thinks for a moment. “Let’s go ask someone for help. I’m sure they’ll be willing to lend a hand!”

The two hear some rustling from a few bushes nearby and turn, look at each other, and then peek out of the clearing onto the path from which the noise came. 

“I don’t know, I guess I thought we were friends,” Michael sighs, crossing her arms against her chest and leaning against a tree. Her usual parka is tucked somewhere back at camp so as to avoid getting paint on it, leaving her in a black tank top. Julia sits on a rock beside her, picking at her cuticles. 

“Yeah, well, you get what you pay for. I tried to tell you he has a stick up his butt,”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” 

Kelly and Austin step through the foliage, smiling. “Hey, girls!” Kelly laughs nervously. 

Julia and Michael both raise an eyebrow. 

“We were wondering if you cool cats could lend us some advice,”

Julia’s “No” and Michael’s “What’s up?” overlap, but Austin continues nonetheless.

“Our thingy is straight jammed, baby, very ungroovy,”

“Um… well, I can take a look at it,” Michael shrugs. “No guarantees I’ll know what to do, though.”

“Yeah, have fun with that. I’m gonna go to the kitchen, I’m starving,” Julia says, starting off down the trail. Michael takes the gun from Kelly, looking it over before nodding. 

“Your safety is still on,” she says, taking it out and handing the paintball gun back to Kelly before a rustling from the bushes behind them grabs their attention. All three turn- Kelly aims the now-working gun and fires a few shots into the woods, hitting nothing. 

“Save your ammo-” Michael starts before a round of paintballs hits her in the stomach. “Aw, man, what the hell!”

Sha-Mod and McLovin giggle from behind the bushes, crouching down army-style while they reload. “Hit her again!” McLovin smirks. 

“Uh, shouldn’t we sha-try for the other players, too?”

“We will, I just love seeing that dumb look on her face!”

“Can’t sha-argue with that!” 

Sha-Mod fires at Michael again, practically coating her in pink from the neck-down. “You got me, alright! Jesus!”

McLovin suddenly springs up, aiming his gun and firing at Austin, who grabs Michael’s shoulders and uses her as a shield. 

“What the hell!” she yelps. Austin smiles apologetically and then runs into the woods with Kelly, leaving Michael dripping in pink. 

---

“I’m honestly kinda surprised that the network let you on, man,” Scruffy says, taking notes as they and Frollo walk down the trail. “Usually TV syndicates don’t like having religious views expressed on teen shows.”

“It was God’s will to have me spread his word on this program,” Frollo answers plainly. Scruffy raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else as the two walk down the trail. 

---

Frollo sits in the confessional, reading his Bible in complete silence.

---

Caesar offers Bonnie a stick of gum, which they accept. The two are sitting in a sunny flower patch at the mouth of a small pond, a crystal-clear waterfall pouring fresh water from the rock formation above. 

“Who knew nature could be so tolerable?” Caesar sighs, kicking back with his hands behind his head. Bonnie nods in agreement. “If only the woods had a wifi connection, this would be paradise,”

A sudden rustling in the woods beyond catches both of their attention and Caesar jumps up, clumsily holding the gun and stepping in front of Bonnie. He peers through the tall bushes surrounding the oasis and sees Scruffy and Frollo walking the trail, then chuckles. 

“Revenge is a dish best served pink,” he takes aim just in time for Frollo to notice, turning and holding up his Bible like a shield. 

Caesar shoots, hitting the book several times as Scruffy hits the deck and army crawls behind a nearby log. The intensity of the paint pellets eventually causes Frollo to stumble backwards, falling next to his walk-buddy. 

“Hey!” Bonnie shouts. 

Caesar whips around, but it’s too late. Staci shoots Bonnie three times in the chest, leaving them covered in blue. 

“Bonbon, NO!” he shouts, extending a hand for them to catch as they dramatically fall backwards. Time seems to slow down as the two reach for each other, but Caesar slips, falling on his paintball gun and crushing it, and Bonnie simply lands on their butt, unscathed. 

“Haha! That’s for great-great-great uncle Teddy, suckers!” Staci shouts before running off into the woods. 

---

“I think I hear something, man,” Sha-Mod whispers, holding a finger to Lightning’s lips and pressing his ear against the rocky formation, as if trying to hear through it. 

He then nods. “Sounds like those two girls from the other team- or maybe one of those girls and that little guy,” 

McLovin follows his footsteps, also listening in. “Sounds like a cave. Let’s corner them!”

The two fist bump and jog around to the other side of the stone hill, stopping and leaning against the very outer corners of the mouth of a large cave. The echoes of two high-pitched voices follow, though their dialogue is too jumbled to make out. 

“On three,” Sha-Mod whispers. “One- 

-Two-

-Three!”

McLovin and Sha-Mod come running in, screaming and brandishing their weapons like machine guns, shooting everywhere except for their targets. Sha-Mod runs further, crashing into the two shadowy figures at the back of the cave and sending all three to the floor. 

“HEY!” Courtney shouts. 

Ass hisses. "Nice going, genius!"

Sha-Mod opens his eyes, his expression changed to one of pure terror. He immediately jumps back to his feet as Courtney and Ass groan, and then stand. McLovin sucks in his breath from behind the trio. 

“Uh…”

Courtney rubs their head, groaning before realizing they can’t stand up straight. They open their eyes wider and see their antlers and Ass’ antlers are intertwined. Both gasp, and then narrow their eyes at each other.

“Let go,” Ass insists. 

“I’m not holding on!”

Sha-Mod looks around nervously while McLovin starts to back away slowly as the two bicker. Eventually, Ass turns, stepping over to the boys and dragging a stubborn Courtney with them, and they grab the gun from Sha-Mod’s hands. 

McLovin and Sha-Mod run out of the cave, screaming and covered in pink paint as Courtney and Ass chase them. 

---

Julia walks along the path back to where she’d left Michael, Kelly, and Austin, seemingly bored and perfectly calm. 

She pauses as Chris’ voice blares over the intercom: “Don’t forget that removing your antlers or tail will result in an immediate elimination! Hahaha,” 

Julia rolls her eyes before hearing a rustling behind her. She turns, terrified, before Scary swings down from a tree branch, hanging upside down as they shoot her. 

“Hey! HEY!” she screams. “I’m on YOUR team! Wait- this isn't paint!” she yelps as she's pelted with pebbles, covering her in tiny bruises.

Scary giggles and disappears back into the canopy.

“FREAK!”

Michael comes trudging down the path seconds later, sulking and peeling drying paint off her skin. “What happened to you?” the two ask in unison. 

---

Chris leans back in his director’s chair, putting his hands behind his head and sighing as Chef arrives with another platter of fresh crepes. 

He takes a seat at the table seconds later, enjoying the open air and sunshine as the two enjoy their mid-challenge brunch just outside of the woods, relishing in the screams of campers and the sound of paintballs splattering. 

“This really is what I needed. No radiation, no dinosaurs, just some good old fashioned nostalgia-based torture,” Chris grins. “Oh, my- is that lemon curd I spy?”

Chef nods. “Imported,”

Chris licks his lips, but just before he can reach across the table, Sha-Mod, McLovin, Ass, and Courtney run out of the woods, the latter still chasing and shooting at the former, taking turns on the gun as their antlers are still tangled.

As they reach the top of the hill separating the craft services tent from the woods, they trip on each other and roll down the slope straight into the breakfast table. The campers groan, lying on the crushed array of berries, creams, and crepes. 

Chris’ shocked stare turns into one of pure anger in seconds. “Seriously?! That was my brunch, dudes! Do you know how long crepes take to make?!”

Chef rolls his eyes. 

“Eliminated! Disqualified! Done!” Chris pulls out his megaphone and yells into it “Anons in the area, get over here!”

Kelly and Austin, as well as Max, Staci, and Scary come strolling out of the forest, surrounding the pile of Fujoshis on the tattered mess that used to be a nice wooden table. 

Chris jabs a finger down. “Take them out, please,”

Kelly grins, aims, and fires directly at Ass, and Scary shoots Courtney somewhere around sixty times before running out of ammo. 

Chef turns to Chris. “Where’d she get the extra paintballs from?”

“Who cares? Fujos, you’re out! I’ll see you at the campfire tonight- as soon as you’re done cleaning this mess and making me a new brunch!”

The team groans in unison. 

---

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” Max says, stirring the odd green soup Chef was serving for dinner. The Fujoshis- save for Bonnie and Caesar, who were sitting alone at their table- were off on bathroom cleaning duty, as assigned to them by a still-hangry Chris. 

“You did great, baby!” Austin smiles, wrapping an arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “I’m so proud!”

Kelly beams. Michael rolls her eyes. 

“Are we not gonna talk about the problem, here?!” Julia snaps, rotating an ice pack around the multiple bruises on her body. “I want that little emo weirdo gone!”

Everyone in the group turns to Scary in the kitchen, who’s busy throwing mysterious ingredients into the soup while Chef’s back is turned. 

“That’s something we can agree on,” Max sighs. “But it’s not the right time. Scary is unpredictable, but she’s a good player, and we need that.”

Julia scoffs. “When did you get all soft?” 

“I’M NOT- nevermind. I said no, so the answer is no,” 

“Whatever, Elmo,”

Max grumbles and crosses his arms, but doesn’t press the matter any further. Frollo rolls his eyes, and Scruffy jots something down. 

---

SCRUFFY: “There’s a lot going on on the team that I’m not being told about. It’s hard to report on facts when everyone keeps being so vague… I almost wish I got placed with the Fujoshis, at least their losing streak is something to write about!”

---

“Fujoshis, you’re here because your team sucks, you ruined my crepes, and your complete lack of coordination, aside from when you’re going after your own team members, is honestly pretty pathetic,” Chris says. “Unfortunately, only one of you will be going home tonight.”

“McLovin- you’re safe. Courtney, Bonnie, Caesar. You get to stay,”

Ass and Sha-Mod look at each other nervously. Courtney smirks a little. 

---

COURTNEY: “I’m not a vindictive person. I’m not! Let's just say I'm not a fan of the attitude demonstrated by some members on the team. But… we wouldn’t have lost today if someone had been able to see who he was shooting.”

---

Chris grins. “And the final marshmallow…

Goes…

To…

…Ass. Sha-Mod, I’m sorry man- Not!” Chris’ smile drops. “Now get out.”

Sha-Mod sighs, and even the crinkled Lightning picture looks sad. He stands and begins walking down the docks, boarding the boat of losers as McLovin follows after him. 

“I’ll win this for us, bro! We’ll have a real mansion someday! With real giant sand dollars!”

Sha-Mod waves as the boat speeds away. “I believe in youuuuuuu!”

“Wow, how touching,” Chris says in a monotone voice. “Will McLovin actually live up to his promises? Will Ass and Courtney ever make up? Find out next time- on Total! Takes! Island!”

[careless-with-your-heart]

* WIP * Ch. 10 - Lay You in the Ground (Am iZombie/Blaine x OC AU Fanfic)

Something’s wrong with Blaine—she can tell it in the tension in his shoulders, in the way his smile never quite reaches his eyes the whole night. He stays behind the bar with her, something he hasn’t done in weeks, and Kitty catches him watching her if a customer leans in to be heard over the music, definitely catches the anxious look on his face when she slips back to the walk-in to switch out a keg.

It's Ravi who brings it up, though, giving voice to Kitty’s low-simmering level of concern. As she slides an apple martini across the bar to him, he ducks close.

“Zombody is on edge tonight, innhe?”

Kitty’s gaze flicks over to Blaine, who is, at the moment, distracted by another customer. She leans on her elbows on the bar top, scrunching her nose at the man across from her. “He is. I don’t know why. I was going to ask you guys…figured maybe something he talked to you or Major about?”

Ravi shakes his head, squinting over at Blaine. “Nah. In fact, he put Clive off on an invite out afterhours tonight. There’s this place—roving hookah lounge. Pops up in a different place every weekend, somewhere in town. Very mellow. Food trucks swarm wherever it lands. The crew thought a wind-down would be nice after you two were off, Post closed up. A little peach tobacco and some carne asada fries.”

Kitty blanches at the thought of that particular combination. She can tell from the flush on the tall doctor’s face that he probably won’t make it to after-hours. The soft, slurred edges of his words are a fairly strong indicator, too.

He grins. “Maybe the waffle truck will be there. Or that curry fusion one. Anyway, me and Peyton, Liv and Major, and you…and Blaine?” Ravi’s eyebrows dance up and down his forehead in a way that is both suggestive and annoying.

“You’re as subtle as hot sauce on vanilla ice cream, my friend,” she quips. “Do they have that fusion at your little hipster pop-up?”

Ravi slaps the bar top. “Come on. Wouldn’t be as fun without you two. Don’t make it an awkward double date with Liv and Major. Things are so weird with them right now. And Don and Darcy are having a date night, apparently.”

“Mmmm,” she says, nodding. “That’s what Blaine said. But he neglected to explain the reason that he swapped shifts with Don.”

“He just wants to be near you, Manky Cat,” Ravi croons, propping his chin in one hand and batting his lashes.

“I will cut you off, Dr. Frankenstein. I have the power. No more booze.”

Mock-offended, Ravi snatches up the apple martini and swigs it down in three, swift gulps.

“I thought that was for Peyton!”

Ravi burps as he clinks the glass back down. “I thought you were cooler and that you would go with your friends to a hipster pop-up.”

“Ask Blaine, you animal.” She’s laughing now, her anxiety over Blaine’s odd mood nearly forgotten in the spectacle of Ravi’s tipsy antics.

“Ask me what?”

Ah, yes—that silky voice that somehow manages to sound, even over the pulse of the music, like it’s only for her ears. As if it’s not unnerving enough that he’s hovering behind her, so close that she can feel his words on her neck—hair up tonight, not because he’s asked, but because she knows he likes it that way with this dress—she's suddenly aware of his hand curving over her hip. Asserting a slight pressure. He presses to her back, and she can feel the hard lines of his chest through his thin linen shirt, against the open back of her dress.

God, she has never felt so physically unnerved by someone in her entire life. Or suspicious of someone. It’s an exhausting metronome.

“Waffles?” Ravi says, and then, he wobbles on his feet.

Blaine’s laughter is another wash of warmth against her bare nape.

“Did you cut him off?” Blaine asks lowly. He’s making slow circles with his thumb against the satin at her hip.

Kitty crosses her arms over her chest. "I did."

Another laugh, low and even closer. "Good girl. He looks like an oak about to topple."

Good girl? It’s suddenly, entirely too hot in The Post. Besides that, the whole thumb business is making her breath hitch.

And then, as if on cue, Ravi grins widely, pivots halfway toward the main bar, and promptly passes out.

(Full Chapter Coming SOON!)

[gordonthesquid]

The Turkey Hat

“It’s 20°C on the Island today, what is wrong with you?” Scott frowns at me from the kitchen table, and I flash him a wide smile as I slide in beside Alan, who’s deep in a game on his tablet. I lean over to check his score, otherwise ignoring Scott to really let my morning attire sink in. “Nevermind, don’t answer that,” he rolls his eyes.

Our older brother never seems to realize that his reactions are a prime example of why I do what I do. I wouldn’t be Gordon Tracy if I didn’t keep people on their toes. My brothers should know by now to expect the unexpected. He’s stopped eating his toast in favor of staring at the eyes sewed onto my hat, intentionally misaligned because truthfully, have you seen a turkey? Outside the dinner spread, their eyes are widely spaced and they walk so clumsily, it’s easy to assume turkeys are dumb as a doornail. Especially when they stare for seconds at a time up at the sky in the rain because their eyes can’t focus on the raindrops.

True fact. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I shoot back at him. “You’re eating breakfast on Thanksgiving.” The large turkey has already made its way into our oven, sending the aroma of the roast past the pool and into the Island proper. 

“You really shouldn’t skip meals, Gordon.” He pointedly takes a large bite of his toast and jam. 

I shrug. “It makes the feast taste better.” He’ll feel silly when he’s full later and I’m the one still working on dessert. 

A flow of chimes from Alan’s tablet signals that he’s made it on to the next dungeon, and in the brief moment between levels, he glances up to see what the discussion is all about. “Yeah, I am with Scott.  You look ridiculous.”

“So,” a warm laugh comes from the doorway. “How’s that different from any other day?” 

Virgil grins tiredly at me and detours on his way to the coffee maker to ruffle my hair. As the top of my head is currently blocked by the stitches on my hat, he instead wiggles the spirals at the top of my head that are supposed to represent turkey feathers. I try to duck out of it since I just spent a stupid amount of time last night sewing them in. Virgil should know better. So rude. 

“Yeah, ridiculous is not the problem. I want to know why you thought it would be a good idea to wear a beanie when it’s almost summer. In the tropics. Are those earflaps, what do you even need earflaps for?”

“Aesthetic, obviously. Virgil knows.” 

Behind the counter, preparing his coffee, Virgil says, “Uh-uh, leave me out of it.”

What a traitor. He walks around in flannel all day, and he doesn’t get the amount of flak I’m getting. Plus, all of this is his fault anyway for teaching me yarn crafts in the first place. 

It was a ‘why not’ hat, but I also wouldn’t have slaved over it if I wasn’t excited for the holiday, for John coming home in a few hours and for alerts to be turned towards the GDF, for the array of foods to be displayed across our table. It’s still an important holiday for us, half a world away from where it’s celebrated, and in the wrong season, under a different sky. 

Thanksgiving is a complex holiday with a dark history. I grew up knowing it, mostly because growing up with Johnny as your sibling means not getting a choice in the matter. He valued transparency in that sort of thing, so even before I was old enough to probably “get” it he’d shared what the colonists actually brought with them to the New World and how they treated the Native Americans already with their homes built upon the soil. 

But I like Thanksgiving. I always have, because it was always more for me than its roots. The history that matters is the one that we built together - us and our family. And so Thanksgiving is cranberry sauce, and Grandpa carving the turkey with the electric knife. The smell of pies baking in the oven, and us kids fighting over the wishbone at the end of the night. Heated discussions over the value of inners versus outers, flaky biscuits or regular, dark meat or light, apple pie or pumpkin. 

And every year we’d go around the table before our meal to say something we were thankful for, a tradition that continues to this day. 

For me, the true test of a tradition is whether it’s broken by the winds of change and whether it can shift with them. The first year after Grandpa died, I remember Dad trembling as he carved the turkey, but he still picked up the knife. And the year after we lost Mom, Virgil and John teamed up to make all the pies as she would, reading from her recipe book. After my accident, Scott and I split the wishbone, and when he won the larger piece, he leaned across the table towards my hoverchair to brush the hair off of my forehead and told me not to worry, that his wish was the same as mine. 

And I still know John’s arguments towards outers, the dressing that’s made from the same ingredients as stuffing but is cooked in a casserole dish, as well as Virgil's arguments in favor of the inners, the stuffing cooked inside the bird itself. Scott favors white meat, Alan dark, and everyone’s wrong about pies because the best Thanksgiving dessert is actually pumpkin rolls. 

Those moments matter. 

To me. To us. 

Virgil drowsily sits beside me while drowning himself in his cup, and Alan’s already moved on to level 10, and Scott has scooched away from the table to check on the turkey he had to put on early in order for it to be ready by dinner, and John has checked in, barely batting an eyelash at the turkey on my head. 

“For the record, it’s 20 degrees in the states too,” I retort while the activity continues around me. 

 “Yeah. Fahrenheit, you monster.” Scott throws a kitchen towel at me. “It makes sense there.” 

I catch the towel and crumple it to throw it right back. “Well if you want me to make sense,” I say, enunciating every word. “I can’t just quit cold-turkey.” 

The chorus of groans is music to my ears. 

“Out, get out of my kitchen.” 

*****   (The US’ Thanksgiving Day is the 4th Thursday in November, this year it’s on the 24th, and I am sure a good number of us are already trying to calculate/solidify where we are going, who’s going to be there, how large a turkey we need, when it needs to defrost, how many hours it needs to cook, what other items need to be made for the more picky eaters in the fam, what sides to make... it goes on. :D. Happy Thanksgiving/Friendsgiving/Dinner/ to my US friends who celebrate, and to everyone else, know that I am thankful for you)